The day I go into labor, my husband's student, Yasmin Holden, storms off in a rage. She climbs the mountains alone while heavily pregnant.

For the next three days and nights, my husband disappears to look for her. Meanwhile, I suffer a difficult labor and hemorrhage badly. I'm rushed into the ICU.

When I finally wake up, the doctor hands my husband a critical condition notice.

He hands me divorce papers.

"Yasmin is my most promising student. I can't let her do anything foolish. You're about to be a mother, so you need to be strong!"

In my last life, I refused to sign.

As soon as I left the maternity ward, I reported their affair to the university. Yasmin lost her graduate school recommendation and was torn apart by public scandal.

In front of me, she slit her own throat.

By the time my husband arrived, Yasmin was already gone—along with the baby.

He quietly handled her funeral and said nothing. Then, he returned to me as if nothing had happened.

I thought that meant I was finally going to have a happy ending.

But one day, he drove our car off a cliff with me and our daughter inside.

That day was Yasmin's death anniversary.

When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day I give birth.

"If you don't sign these papers, don't expect to leave this room alive!"

I looked in the direction of the voice and saw the man pushing past the doctor to yank off my oxygen mask, shouting at me with venomous intensity.

Those bloodshot eyes matched the same murderous gaze from when he tried to die with me in the car. This frighteningly familiar scene was something I would never forget, even if I were reduced to ashes.

In my previous life, I had stood my ground until the very end, never backing down. I had used my last ounce of strength to tear those divorce papers to shreds. I had stubbornly held on until after leaving the delivery room when I submitted a formal complaint to the college.

That decision was one I regretted for the rest of my life.

"I'll sign," I muttered, forcing myself to sit up as I took the documents from Tristan Barnes' hand. Under his suspicious gaze, I scrawled my signature across the divorce papers with shaky handwriting.

He snatched the documents back and examined them carefully before he threatened, "Bridget Pearce, you'd better not be playing any tricks! Out of whatever remains of our marriage, I'll arrange for someone to take care of you during your postpartum recovery and cover those expenses, but beyond that…"

He tossed the oxygen mask onto my body and hissed, "You won't get a single penny from me!"

With that, he left with the papers without looking back.

When I was 25, I had ignored my advisor's objections, dropped out of academia, and married the penniless Tristan. After the wedding, I easily secured a position at the college with my impressive credentials and spent my free time publishing countless research papers under Tristan's name.

During our five years of marriage, I had helped him become an associate professor with tenure at the college, supporting his rise from having nothing to having everything. Yet, five years of marriage only earned me coverage for postpartum care expenses.

I laughed bitterly at the reality.

After Tristan left, I was transferred from intensive care to a regular room, and the nurse brought me my daughter, Victoria Pearce. I watched as Victoria struggled to grip my index finger, and this strengthened my resolve to personally change both our fates this time around.

Late that night, the howling wind outside made it impossible for me to sleep. I clearly remembered locking the doors and windows, but sudden fear dilated my pupils. I dragged my aching body to the side of the bed only to discover that the crib was empty. Just before falling asleep, Victoria had been sleeping peacefully right there.

"Mrs. Barnes, what are you looking for?"

I whirled around toward the window, where a woman in a hospital gown with a slightly swollen belly was holding something out toward the open air. Looking closer, I realized with horror that it was Victoria.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through my head, like a rope being pulled tight around my skull. I shouted, "What are you doing? Put her down right now!"

The extreme tearing I had suffered during the difficult childbirth, which had required dozens of stitches, sent shooting pain through my lower body. I knew the wound had definitely reopened. However, there was no time to dwell on it.

Ignoring the blinding pain, I staggered forward and lunged at Yasmin Holden. Victoria's cries filled the room, piercing and frantic, just as Yasmin let out a shrill scream.

Suddenly, the door to my hospital room burst open. Tristan stormed in and crossed the distance in a few quick strides before kicking me aside.

He pulled Yasmin into his arms and asked, "Yas, are you okay? Are you hurt? Bridget, I knew it! You agreed to the divorce too easily because you were obviously planning something! So, this is what you've been waiting to do!"

I clutched Victoria tightly as Tristan's kick sent us flying several feet. My back slammed hard against the wall, forcing a painful groan from my throat.

Meanwhile, the woman in Tristan's protective embrace trembled against his chest, crying while holding her stomach. Yet, her face showed a smug smile directed at me.

Yasmin explained between sobs, "Professor Barnes, I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and happened to pass by Mrs. Barnes' room when I heard the baby crying. I thought I shouldn't disturb Mrs. Barnes' rest, so I took it upon myself to come in and help soothe the baby...

"But Mrs. Barnes suddenly accused me of ruining her marriage with you and threatened to push me and my baby out the window!"

Tristan believed every word Yasmin said and stared at me in utter disbelief. Before I could explain, he scooped Yasmin up in his arms. "I should have known all along—you're completely vicious and cold-hearted! Someone like you doesn't deserve to use my money for postpartum care. You belong on the streets!"

With those words, he carried Yasmin out of my hospital room. Victoria continued crying in my arms, but Tristan never once asked about her.

Before I could react, a group of security guards burst into the room, restrained me, and threw me out of the hospital. The frigid night air made my wound sting unbearably while Victoria's screams had faded to hoarse, pitiful whimpers. My blood was pooling beneath us, dripping onto the ground beneath me.

I had planned to go to the emergency room to have my wound stitched up before figuring out what to do next. However, this private hospital was half-owned by Tristan, and the security guards had already posted my photo at the entrance with large letters stating: "This person is banned from receiving treatment at this facility!"

It was still the middle of the night with very few cars passing by, and the rare cabs that did come avoided me when they saw the blood soaking through my clothes.

With no other choice, I wrapped myself tightly in my hospital gown and carried Victoria five miles through the dark streets to the nearest public hospital, where they stitched me up again.

The morning after the surgery, I sent a resignation email to the college. Then, I dialed a number I knew by heart. "Rowan, about that project you mentioned... I'm in."

After a week of recovery at the hospital, I went to the college with Victoria to handle my resignation paperwork. The college president, Eric Ostell, was still trying to convince me to stay.

He asked, "Bridget, why are you suddenly leaving? Is there something about the job that's bothering you?"

I smiled and shook my head. "I received an invitation for a project overseas, and I've decided to give it a try."

Eric's concerned expression immediately transformed into one of admiration. "So, that's what it is! I knew someone as talented as you would never lack opportunities! Does Professor Barnes know about this big decision?"

I smiled and shook my head again. The time wasn't right to discuss what had happened between Tristan and me, so I didn't want to say a single word about it to anyone else.

Eric seemed to grasp the situation and broke into a wide smile. "You must be planning a surprise for Professor Barnes! You two have such a sweet relationship! Everyone at the college knows he's completely devoted to his wife.

"He always ends his classes promptly at 5:30 pm, saying he needs to rush home to cook dinner for you. Even after five years of marriage, you two still act like newlyweds. It truly makes everyone envious."

My hand froze in mid-air as I gathered my documents. Throughout my pregnancy, I had spent virtually every moment alone in our empty house. Whether it was countless prenatal check-ups or my mid-pregnancy depression, I had endured it all by myself.

For a long time, Tristan had stopped coming home, let alone cooking meals for me. So, if Tristan had been telling everyone he was cooking for his wife, and that wife wasn't me, who could it possibly be?

It wasn't yet time to expose the truth. Hence, I simply smiled and agreed with Eric's comments before finishing packing my things and leaving. I drove Victoria home, but when we arrived at our front door, the passcode I had entered many times before suddenly wouldn't work.