What Happens To The Main Character In Six Years In The Hanoi Hilton?

Every April Fools' Day, my boyfriend joined his childhood friend in the same cruel prank, pretending to propose to me. Last year, I slipped the ring onto my finger, my heart full of hope. Suddenly, the mechanism snapped tight. Pain shot through my hand, and I cried out. He apologized afterward and promised that, this year, the proposal would be real. As such, I arrived carefully dressed, believing him. Instead, I was met with a face full of cake. He reached out gently, wiping the cream from my face as if it were nothing more than a harmless joke. However, this time, I took a step back. After six disappointments, I chose to walk away. So why was it that, in the end, he was the one consumed by regret?

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

Seven days before my wedding with Giuliano Corleone, the heir of the Corleone family, I find out that I'm pregnant. At that moment, I receive a text from an unknown number. "Mommy, please abort me. I'll get born with crippled legs, meaning I won't be able to stand up for the rest of my life. You and Daddy will keep fighting every day because of me until all of your love is reduced to hate. In the end, you'll get overwhelmed by the pain and get afflicted with severe depression, which will lead to you taking your own life by overdosing on pills. I don't want to see you living in that hell ever again." I immediately head over to the hospital to go through a medically-induced abortion without any hesitation. When Giuliano realizes what I've done, he's furious, to say the least. He yells at me, demands answers from me, and vents all of his rage on me. Finally, he stomps out of the ward and slams the door on me. By the time I return to Giuliano's heavily-guarded estate, I can hear Eva Bianchi's loud, malicious laughter ringing from within. "How is it possible for such foolish women to exist in this world? To think that she actually believed the text came from her child from seven years in the future! "I can't believe that she actually got rid of her unborn baby because of a fabricated text!" With a poker face, Giuliano warns Eva, "I'll let this incident slide. If you dare bully and humiliate Elena again in the future, I will never let you off the hook." I stand outside the closed door, feeling eerily calm. There will never be a next time. I know that the so-called text from the future is fake. But the thing is, I've also gotten reborn from seven years in the future, where I've gotten my heart shattered.

In my third year working overseas as a war correspondent, a grenade blast left me wounded and stripped me of my memories. The PTSD that followed was severe enough to keep me in a psychiatric hospital for two years. It wasn't until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I came home, my best friend and my husband met me at the airport, both of them crying harder than I was. Russell Ellison's eyes were red-rimmed, but his voice was as gentle as ever. "The new place is all set up. Move in for now. I'll come keep you company after work." I went back to our old house instead. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a wedding photo hanging on the wall. The bride in it wasn't me. It was my best friend. A key turned in the lock outside. The man who was supposed to be buried in work at the office walked in, fingers laced with hers. A child was tucked against his chest, calling him "Daddy" in a small, unsteady voice. I stood frozen, too stunned to breathe. We'd only been apart for two years. So how was their child already three?

Eight years after running away pregnant, I found myself crossing paths with my ex-husband, Howard Quinn. His friends stared at me in surprise. "So, this is what you have become after leaving Howard? Reduced to a cleaner?" When I was six-months pregnant, I met with an accident. While I lay there, he was staying by the side of another woman, his so-called true love, in labor, never leaving her side. When I confronted him, in pieces, he looked at me bored and impatiently. "Don't be so jealous and petty. I have no time for you. As long as you behave, you'll always be Mrs. Quinn." I couldn't stand it any longer, so I ran away, staying away for eight long years. Now, those sharp eyes glared at me. "Have you had enough? If so, come home." What he didn't know was that my husband and daughter had already made dinner, waiting for me and my son to return home.

After five years in a marriage without intimacy, I finally called my wife, Suzanna Jones, the youngest commander in the military, and asked her to spend the night with me. Five hundred and twenty times. That was how many times we had been interrupted over the years. Every time we came close to being together, an urgent call from her widowed brother‑in‑law, Eric Gibson, pulled her away before anything could happen. Then, on our wedding anniversary, Suzanna promised she would finally give me the perfect wedding night we never had. I held her by the waist and was about to cross the final line between us when Eric’s ringtone shattered the moment. “Suzanna… I was injured in an explosion down there. What if I am crippled for life…?” Panic filled her face. She pushed me aside and rushed for the door. I grabbed her wrist and tried to stop her. “Send him to the military hospital first.” She turned on me with anger and slapped me across the face. “Shane! Eric is seriously hurt! How can you be this heartless?” She pulled on her dress and ran out. When I caught up with her, the sight in front of me stopped me cold. The woman who once promised to give me her first night was wrapped around Eric in a position far more intimate than anything she had ever shared with me. When I asked for an explanation, she looked calm and unbothered. “Eric is in critical condition. Was I supposed to stand there and do nothing? It is not that important. If it bothers you that much, I can fix it later.” Something inside me went numb. For five years, I had been the only one trying to hold our marriage together. At that moment, I realized I was exhausted from fighting for something that had ended long ago.