In the dead of night, at two o'clock in the morning, my husband, Henry Smith, who claimed to be working overtime, found himself stranded without a taxi and called upon me to pick him up.

Unsuspecting, I drove to the desolate spot he had indicated. In the eerie silence, I searched for his familiar face but found none.

Instead, a homeless man loomed in the shadows. His gaze was filled with malice, sending shivers down my spine.

Panic rose within me as I frantically texted my husband, pleading for his whereabouts.

His reply was swift. Henry: [Don't be afraid. You'll see me when you step out.]

Yet, the moment I did, a blow from behind plunged me into darkness.

When consciousness returned, my husband furiously stood over me, with his phone capturing the moment with a homeless man leering beside me.

He accused me of cheating on him, and with those photographs as his weapon, he filed for divorce, stripping me of everything, including the custody of our child.

On the day our marriage ended, he sold our home, pocketing every penny to start anew in a lavish villa.

I watched him wrap his arms around a stunningly attired woman as they glided into the opulent villa. A pang of realization struck me.

What happened that night was a meticulously planned scheme.

***

My eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of the clock reading 1:50 a.m.

Beside me, my three-year-old daughter, Poppy, slept peacefully. I was back in our cozy, loving home, a sanctuary that time had seemingly rewound.

Only then did I realize that I was reborn, given a chance to rewrite my fate.

I pressed my fingers firmly against my temples, trying to massage away the confusion as I summoned the last clear memory.

I had been nothing but obedient, following Henry's instructions to pick him up in the wee hours.

The road stretched out into a remote abyss, devoid of even the faintest glow of a streetlight. Darkness enveloped everything. My only beacon in this sea of night was the harsh, revealing beam of car headlights cutting through the void.

A homeless man emerged from the shadows. His clothes hung in tatters, and his eyes, glinting with a mix of desperation and malice, fixed upon me with an unsettling intensity.

Fear had rooted me to my seat, so I dared not step out but texted Henry.

His response came back in an instant.

Henry: [Don't fear, Nicole. You'll see me the moment you step out of the car.]

Yet, as I alighted from the vehicle, the door left swinging in my wake, and a sudden, excruciating pain erupted at the crown of my head.

The world around me spiraled into darkness before consciousness slipped from my grasp.

As consciousness returned, I was sprawled in disarray upon the icy embrace of the earth. Beside me lay the homeless man. His smile was twisted into something lewd and unsettling.

With a lewd grin, he began to inch closer. His hand reached out with a sinister intent to touch me.

In that harrowing moment, Henry stumbled upon the scene. He whipped out his cell phone, capturing what he perceived as my infidelity.

He spat out his words with an icy venom, "Nicole Blake! Are you so desperately horny? I work late one night, and you throw yourself into the arms of just any man!"

The putrid stench wafting from the homeless man assaulted my senses.

My stomach twisted into knots. With a surge of overwhelming sickness, I threw out.

No matter how I protested my innocence, Henry was deaf to my pleas.

With the photographic evidence clenched in his hand like a weapon, he marched into the lawyer's office that very same day, initiating the legal battle to divorce me.

"Nicole Blake! You've deceived me, and for that, you shall be cast from this house!"

True to his venomous promise, he cast me out into the world without a penny to my name. But his retribution did not end there; with a heart as cold as winter, he also stripped me of my daughter, leaving me bereft of both home and heart.

Stripped of everything, I was engulfed by an ocean of tears. Yet, the thought of leaving my daughter was a pain too great to bear.

My only solace was to linger like a shadow at the kindergarten gate, where I could steal fleeting glimpses of her.

I witnessed the woman, Selena George, who was mistreating my daughter.

Selena George was the one whom Henry held close in his arms.

On the very day our divorce was sealed, I witnessed that Henry sold the home where we once whispered promises and pocketed every cent, only to vanish into the luxury of a private villa.

That opulent villa, it turned out, was none other than Selena's domain.

On that sorrowful afternoon, Poppy, not heeding Selena's command, was met with a sharp slap that echoed through the crowd.

Poppy, just a tender three years of age, was left inconsolable after the blow. In a fit of impatience, Selena seized the weeping Poppy with a deliberate roughness, tossing her into the car and then heartlessly casting her out onto the pavement.

Poppy's small head met the unforgiving ground with a thud, and from the wound, a crimson stream began to flow.

I was so mad!

In a desperate surge, I lunged forward to reclaim my daughter, but a rogue car, ignoring the red light, surged forth with lethal speed, striking me with such force that I was hurled through the air and finally landed several feet away.

As life ebbed away from me, the final image seared into my soul was of my beloved Poppy, trying to stem the blood from her wounded head with her hand as her cry pierced through the chaos. She called out for me.

Following my tragic end, Henry, once my husband, assumed control over my remains. With a detached resolve, he had me cremated.

"Purchasing a cemetery plot is far too costly. Why not simply find some arbitrary spot and scatter her ashes there?"

His voice, laced with an indifference that chilled me to the core, echoed in my mind. I hardly believed he was the man I had vowed to spend my life with and the one whose side I had left only in sleep.

In the aftermath of my demise, I believed my soul would wander aimlessly, forever tethered to my daughter's side.

The day my daughter was injured, Henry rushed her to the hospital. Her condition, thankfully, was not grave.

I lingered around the hospital.

In the deep silence of the night, a luminous white light appeared, and from within its glow, an elderly woman emerged.

Her smile was warm and comforting. "Your earthly bonds remain unresolved. Your wrongs have yet to be righted. This is not the time for reincarnation. You must go back."

Upon awakening, I was inexplicably transported back to an era before the divorce cleaved my world apart. The life I had lived seemed like an ephemeral dream. I found myself once again by my daughter's side.

Tears of joy streamed down my face as I held my daughter tightly.

If God had granted me a rebirth, I vowed not to let the villains triumph. Henry would pay for his sins.

The clock struck two in the morning, the hour when destiny's wheel began to turn.

My phone rang.

As expected, it must be Henry who requested a ride home from his alleged overtime work.

I answered the call with a sneer as his tired voice filled the line.

"Nicole, I've just wrapped up a project inspection with a client. It's in a remote area, and I can't seem to find a taxi. Could you come pick me up?"

His tone was imperious and unchanged from my previous life.

In my past existence, I had naively believed his excuse that he was genuinely unable to hail a taxi and that he was helplessly ensnared by circumstance.

I couldn't stand the thought of him spending the entire night out in the cold, so I threw on some clothes and drove to the spot he had mentioned. I was ready to scoop him up into the warmth of my car and bring him back to the safety of home.

But to my utter shock, it was revealed to be an intricate web of deceit designed by him and Selena.

He had knocked me unconscious the moment I stepped out of the car.

He also paid the homeless man to stage an act of violation.

Before Henry, the homeless man assaulted me, crafting a cruel illusion of my infidelity, all to furnish Henry with the fabricated proof of my supposed betrayal.

I had been a fool.

As I remained silent, Henry tentatively questioned, "Hello? Nicole, are you there?"

I was about to respond.

Suddenly, a soft yet startlingly clear voice, unmistakably feminine, broke the silence with its gentle whisper.

"If she doesn't come, then..."

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished.

"Who are you with?" I asked Henry.

His reply was tinged with guilt, "I'm alone. You must've misheard. I was just watching a video."

I scoffed, feigning agreement. "Alright, wait for me. I'm coming to get you."

Henry seemed relieved.

Relief washed over his voice, softening his tone.

"Okay, I'll wait for you here."

After disconnecting the call, I silenced my phone, tossed it aside, and cocooned myself in the comfort of the blankets. My daughter was nestled close. Sleep claimed us once more.

Pick him up? Not a chance.

This time, my focus was singular: to shield my daughter and myself from harm.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed incessantly.

Yet, sleep held me in its gentle grasp.

Dawn broke, and I awoke to the natural light, refreshed. After the morning rituals, I checked my phone.

Eighty-seven missed calls from Henry lit up my screen, accompanied by an avalanche of text messages.

He demanded my whereabouts, questioning my delay.

Eventually, his frustration and embarrassment fused into anger, and in one heated text, he lashed out with curses. Henry: [Are you fucking messing with me?]

I pondered his words, struggling to reconcile this man with the tender husband I once knew.

It was a stark reminder: people could wear masks.

Love could be feigned.

After breakfast, I crafted a reply to Henry.

Nicole: [I'm sorry. My car broke down on my way to you. It's only just been fixed. Where are you now? Should I come to get you?]

Daylight now bathed the world.

Even the remote road would be alive with activity.

The likelihood of him lashing out at me once more seemed nearly insurmountable.

As expected, Henry swiftly replied. Henry: [No need. I've managed to hail a taxi.]

A smile played on my lips as I set the phone down.

Henry wouldn't be coming home just yet.

He sent yet another message, informing me that there were matters at the company demanding his attention, and only after wrestling with those would he make his way back home.

Ignoring his excuses, I ventured downstairs to the supermarket, where I purchased two cameras and two voice recorders.

The cameras were strategically placed in the living room and bedroom, and their feeds were linked directly to my phone.

The recorders, one in my bag, the other in my pocket, were my constant companions, ready to capture any evidence.

Not content with passive measures, I reached out to a private detective, Jerry Short, offering a substantial sum for his services.

His mission was clear: to watch the private villa and document any intimate moments between Henry and Selena.

This was my new battlefield, and Henry was my adversary.

I would ensure he left this house with nothing but disgrace.