In my previous life, Sofia and I were the picture of marital bliss – a couple whose harmony and love seemed almost too perfect to be true. For five years, we played the role of an ideal union, a facade carefully constructed by my own hands. To our family and friends, we were a model couple, admired for our devotion and harmony. Yet, behind closed doors, the reality was far from the illusion we presented.

Sofia, with her delicate demeanor, had never once lifted a finger to tend to domestic chores. The kitchen remained a foreign land to her; she had never stirred a pot, nor had she ever faced the mundane task of mopping the floor. I, in turn, took on the role of the perfect husband, attending to her every whim and desire. This role earned me glowing praise from her family, who lauded me as a son-in-law beyond compare, oblivious to the cold chasm that separated us.

In those five years, Sofia never allowed me to truly touch her, emotionally or physically. Her heart remained tethered to a ghost from her past – her first love, a man who had suffered from leukemia. Our marriage was nothing more than a strategic maneuver, a means to an end. The dowry money was destined to pay for his treatment. When I perished in that devastating fire, consumed by flames, she seized the opportunity to escape with her true love. As my body turned to ash, a grotesque scene unfolded. She clung to him, her hand resting on her swollen belly and declared with chilling detachment, "We finally have a child." Her voice held a cold indifference, a stark contrast to the agony of my demise.

In this new life, I am determined to live for myself. The strings that once bound me to that cruel past have been severed. I refuse to be a pawn in anyone's game again.

***

Sofia's voice cut through the morning stillness like a shard of ice. "Rowan, I need you to cover for me with my parents today. I have to take Lewis for chemotherapy."

The request was routine but carried a commanding edge, a reminder of the unequal dynamic that had defined our five years together. Every interaction had been a choreographed dance around Lewis, her first love who remained the center of her world.

Her indifferent tone left me momentarily disoriented. The searing pain from the fire that had consumed me was now a distant memory. I realized with a jolt that I had been reborn.

"Sofia," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos within, "I'm tired of being your scapegoat. You can't keep running back and forth. He needs you, yes, but it's time for a divorce."

The words hung heavily between us and I ended the call abruptly, the click of the phone echoing in the silent room. I turned to face my reflection in the mirror, grappling with the reality of my transformation.

Just moments ago, my body had been engulfed by flames, my flesh scorched and twisted in a nightmarish conflagration. It was all because of Lewis.

The memory of that inferno was branded onto my soul. Lewis, languishing in his terminal illness, had sought release from his suffering. Sofia, driven by her desperate love for him, had dragged me into the fire.

The blaze had been a ravenous beast, devouring everything in its path. As the flames licked my skin, I had fought desperately to escape. But Lewis, a spectral figure in the flickering light, had blocked my way, his eyes cold and resolute.

Sofia, her face a mask of terror, had pulled Lewis to safety, their figures silhouetted against the inferno's glow. The outside world was a cacophony of sirens and shouting, but my screams were swallowed by the roaring fire.

In the final moments, as the flames consumed me, I saw them together – Sofia and Lewis, their embrace a betrayal. A firefighter's voice broke through the illusion of their perfect escape. "Anyone else in there?" he called out.

Sofia's reply, cold and calculated, sliced through the chaos. "No, everyone's out."

Her actions were a knife to my heart. Tears in her eyes, she held Lewis' hand, a promise of a future that didn't include me. "Look," she said, her voice devoid of remorse, "we finally have a child."

A family of three, built on the ashes of my existence. When the truth came out, her response was chillingly indifferent. "Rowan is dead. What can we do? The living must live."

I had foolishly hoped for at least a semblance of guilt or sorrow from her, but I was wrong. I stared at my reflection, a ghost in the body of a man reborn. She was right about one thing: the living must live. But this time, it would be on my terms.

In my previous life, Sofia and Lewis were inseparable, their love story abruptly halted by the iron grip of her parents. Our paths intersected through the choreographed dance of arranged marriage. After just two brief meetings, Sofia acquiesced to my proposal.

Yet, her consent came with a caveat. "You're a good man, but there's one thing," she said bluntly. "You must give me a dowry of forty thousand dollars."

A surge of hope and anticipation filled me as I envisioned a future with Sofia. I genuinely liked her and wanted to build a life together.

Sofia had been tightly controlled by her parents from childhood, with no freedom to speak of. To liberate her, even in a small way, seemed like a noble gesture. With a heart full of optimism, I drained my savings, each withdrawn bill a silent pledge to our future.

Little did I know, those funds were a lifeline for Lewis – a desperate gamble on his survival. Our marriage became a stage for a carefully crafted deception. Sofia's frequent absences were explained away as visits to an ailing friend, a narrative she wove with practiced ease.

Driven by naive compassion, I became a culinary servant, my kitchen transforming into a sanctuary of care. Each meal was prepared with meticulous attention, a silent prayer for her friend's recovery.

At first, Sofia's reactions were a blend of surprise and gratitude. But over time, her gratitude shifted into expectation. Her requests became more demanding, turning simple meal preparations into elaborate performances.

Eventually, her absences grew more frequent, extending into full nights away. Anxiety gnawed at my heart as the hours stretched into days. The ticking clock became a relentless tormentor, each passing minute a pang of fear.

Desperate to know her whereabouts, I called and texted, but Sofia never replied. Then came the night when fate revealed the harsh truth with cruel irony.

Unable to bear the pain of a stomach ulcer any longer, I went to the hospital alone. The sterile, white corridors of the hospital contrasted sharply with the warmth and comfort of my home. As I navigated the labyrinthine halls, I stumbled upon Sofia in a ward.

There she was, alongside Lewis, an island of intimacy in a sea of sterile white. Sofia was feeding him, her smile bright and radiant. Her laughter, a melody I had never heard before, was a dagger to my heart.

The woman who had shared my bed and bore my name was radiating a joy that was worlds a part from our lifeless marriage. It was then that I truly saw her smile for the first time.

I understood now that her so-called "friend" was Lewis, her first love. I stood at the door, my presence unnoticed until Lewis caught sight of me.

Sofia turned her head and met my gaze. Panic and discomfort flashed across her face. "Rowan, why are you here?"

She didn't ask if I was feeling unwell but instead quickly became angry, accusing me of following her.

She hadn't crossed the line of physical infidelity, but the emotional betrayal was a wound that festered beneath the surface. Despite the pain, I had no intention of divorcing her immediately. I was determined to salvage our marriage and weather this storm, believing that a chance at reconciliation was still possible.

Over the course of a week, I showered her with elaborate apologies – flowers, gifts and heartfelt gestures. Gradually, her icy demeanor began to thaw and a fragile truce was established between us.

Yet, the shadow of Lewis loomed large in our lives. Casual mentions of his condition became a recurring theme in our conversations, her tone always imbued with a righteous indignation. It was as if my discomfort was a reflection of my own cruelty.

I found myself trapped in a labyrinth of my own making, a prisoner of my vows and societal expectations. The weight of their approval was a heavy burden, but I continued to play the role of the perfect husband. I cooked, cleaned and provided, all while my heart withered within me.

Five years of unwavering devotion had yielded nothing but heartache. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. If her heart truly belonged to another, I would not be the one to stand in her way.

With newfound resolve, I booked a ticket to Bali – a dream deferred and a promise to myself. I had always wanted to visit, originally planning it as our honeymoon destination. But this time, it was a declaration of independence, a refusal to be defined by a love that was one-sided.

When Sofia learned of my plans, her reaction was swift and furious. "I have no mood for a honeymoon. Lewis is still undergoing chemotherapy and needs care."

Her anger was genuine and once again, Lewis became the shield – a fragile weapon used against me. Despite her protests, the decision to divorce was already made.

My phone rang and it was Sofia calling. "Rowan, what kind of tantrum are you throwing? Lewis is now in a critical phase of his chemotherapy. I don't have time to placate you. My parents trust you and explaining this to them won't cost you anything."

I listened to her words in silence, absorbing the finality in her tone. After a moment, I spoke calmly. "Sofia, I've already printed the divorce agreement. If you have time, come back so we can sign it."