What Happens At The End Of 'More Happy Than Not'?

Choices and chances… one decision or one of many that make us live a life of happiness and content…. one that makes us muddled and ordinary… or one that leaves us with regret and unwillingness…. Mira was just an ordinary girl who was loved and pampered. The two most important people in her life were Alina and Jason; Alina, her best friend and Jason, her sweetheart. Mira's peaceful life took a turn for the worse when her stepmother forced her to marry a simpleton whom she had never met. She hated her stepmother. She did everything she could to make life unbearable for the two people responsible for her misery- her stepmother and her husband.She succeeded in getting rid of both; one passed away and the other gave her a divorce. She finally got the life she wanted, a life where she married her sweetheart. But why was nothing as she imagined? Why was her husband who loved and waited for her to get a divorce never around? Why was her father about to be executed for treachery? With her last breath, she got her answers- Everything she knew was a lie; Jason whom she loved with all her heart hated her because of a lie; Alina, whom she trusted and cared for more than anyone else, was the cause of her misery. Her stepmother and her ex-husband whom she hated, loved her to death…. Literally! It was too late by the time she got the answers for her questions, or was it? Mira was one of those fortunate people, who got a second chance. What choice will she make? Will history repeat? Will she make amends to the ones she wronged? or…. Will she correct the misunderstanding with her sweetheart for her happily ever after?

After five years of marrying into the Loween City in place of my sister, the Gambling King finally passed away. My son and my ex-husband—at long last—gave me permission to fake my death and return to them. But they laid down three conditions. First: kneel before Vivian Gray, apologize for framing her all those years ago, and surrender my place as Mrs. Hartwell. Second: work as a live-in maid for my own son for five years, and never show up at his school in my former identity as the reigning queen of the nightlife scene—lest I embarrass him. Third: drink an abortifacient to destroy my fertility forever, as recompense for the infertility I once caused Vivian. "My lady, you've endured five whole years just to earn your freedom—how dare they humiliate you like this?" My maid's eyes were red, burning with indignation on my behalf. But I just tipped my head back and swallowed the death-faking pill, letting the servants toss my "corpse" into the overgrown brambles beyond the city limits. Then, from the mud and weeds, I crawled back to the Hartwell mansion—one knee at a time. Day one, I knelt as ordered and signed over custody of my son without a fight. Day three, I locked myself in the storage closet and stopped showing up at school to pick my son up like I used to. I also stopped pestering him to call me "Mom." Even when Vivian—knowing full well I'm terrified of the dark—deliberately trapped me in the basement, I bore it in silence. By the time my ex-husband Nathan Hartwell saw me again, I was barely hanging on. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face as he carried me out of that basement. But my son just sneered. "It's just another stunt to win our sympathy." When he caught the tears welling in Vivian's eyes, Nathan coldly dropped me to the ground. "Always scheming against Vivian with your dirty tricks—aren't you tired of it?" Right then, the system chimed in my ear: [Please proceed to the "disposable ex-wife death node" to complete the story line and return to your original world.] I let out a quiet laugh. "Not tired at all." And with that, I turned and dove straight into the swimming pool beside me.

Growing up in a broken home and opposite a married couple who did nothing but fight, Diana Young swore off marriage and everything to do with it. People say that love ends when marriage starts and since marriage is love's destination, it was kind of ironic. But Diana believed it was all the bit true.Everyone's disappointed at the pot of gold that is not found at the end of the rainbow. Love was like that, she thought. A disappointment. Perhaps she just needed the right person to show her the real pot of gold. What is really found at the end of love, because maybe, just maybe, love doesn't end at all.

In those eight terrifying seconds when the plane dropped into darkness, my first thought was how devastated Lucas would be if I never made it to the airport. However, after surviving and landing safely, what greeted me instead…was a photo he shared with his childhood sweetheart, the two of them smiling on a hike. The caption read: [Here's to still being wild with you at sixty.] If it had been before, I probably would have blown up his phone, demanding an explanation and picking a fight. However, then, after brushing so close to death, I just felt… tired.. So I typed out a message: [Let's get a divorce.]

It has been fifty-five days since my fiancé cut me off. I called off the wedding I'd waited eight long years for. All while he was caring for his childhood sweetheart, who was battling depression and seeking peace at a remote retreat. He even had the historic chapel—a local landmark called the Aethelred Sanctuary—closed to the public for six months because of her. And me? I was left to face the swarming reporters, hounded from one place to the next until I had nowhere left to hide—all because he disappeared without a word. Out of options, I went to the retreat to find him. But he turned me away, saying I would disturb the quiet and sanctity of the place. In the bitter cold of deep winter, I collapsed outside the gates, barely holding on. When I woke, I saw him—Jonathan—planting an entire garden of roses on the grounds, every bloom a declaration of love. Six months later, he finally left and returned home with his childhood sweetheart. The roses they had planted now filled what was supposed to be our wedding venue, from floor to ceiling. I watched them, cold and unmoved. What he didn't know was this—I was already engaged to someone else.

On the day I get discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my wife, Lisseth Gabler, speaks up all of a sudden. "When your mom was struck and killed by Donny's car, I was the one who hired a lawyer to defend him." My dad—the most elite doctor in the city—is still driving as he adds coolly, "I was the one who personally forged your mental illness records." Throughout the three-year torture I've received in the psychiatric hospital, I keep recalling the tragic way my mom died when she was struck by Donny Kaufman's car all the time. Meanwhile, my own wife chooses to defend him, whereas my own father has me admitted into a psychiatric hospital. I do my best not to collapse from the sheer shock. In a quivering tone, I ask, "Why?" Dad averts his gaze. Lisseth is the one who answers my question nonchalantly. "It's simple. You have everything. It's pitiful enough for Donny to be labelled as the illegitimate son. Now, I'm giving you two choices. Either patch things up with Donny, or stay in the psychiatric hospital for the rest of your life."