Does 'In Five Years' Have A Happy Ending?

It was all about a year. Just one simple year. They got married because of his Grandmother's wish. He didn't fall for her in that one year but she did. She didn't expect he would still hold on that contract after being married for a whole year but he did. He terminated the contract after a year and told her that it was over without any regret. He had gifted her divorce papers on their first wedding anniversary. He had expected her to throw a tantrum but too bad cause she didn't. Instead she just packed her bags and left just like he had asked her to. Then all of sudden one year later they met again. But she didn't change like those cliche heroines after divorce. She was the same as she was a year ago. Stupid, clumsy and stubborn. He didn't realise what he lost like those cliche ex husbands when he saw her for the first time after a year. But why did it sting watching her talking to some other men so casually? Why did it sting when she didn't look at him with those puppy lovesick eyes anymore? Why did it sting so much when she treated him like other ordinary people? It shouldn't have right? SLOW UPDATE AND UPDATE 3 DAYS PER WEEK. PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THIS AND DON'T COMPLAIN LATER:)

Evelyn Hayes has spent three years as a “invisible wife” to billionaire Arthur Garrison, living in a marriage that exists only on paper. When she is diagnosed with a terminal illness and told she only has months left, she offers him one final deal: one hundred days of his time in exchange for signing their divorce papers. Arthur agrees, eager to finally be free, completely unaware that he is counting down the days to her death. But as they spend time together, Arthur begins to see Evelyn differently, and the freedom he once wanted no longer feels important. With Evelyn quietly slipping away and time running out, Arthur is forced to face a choice he never expected to make. When the hundred days end, will he still want his freedom—or will it already be too late to save her?

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

It's our fifth wedding anniversary. I've booked a table at a riverside restaurant and set my pregnancy test report right in the center of the table. 9:00 pm comes and goes with no sign of my husband, Yosef Sinclair. Just as I reach for my phone, the cake delivery person texts to ask for my location. I send it over, then call Yosef. A ringtone chimes right behind me. I turn around and see Yosef walking in, looking sharp in his suit. I'm about to nag him for being late until I see him holding a cake box and answering his phone. "I'm working. I'll—" Before he finishes speaking, he visibly pauses, then asks in a low voice, "You ordered this? Meeting friends? Just don't stay out too late." He sets the cake down right on top of my test report and turns on his heel. All that I'm left with is the sight of his retreating figure. A moment later, his voice floats back in from outside. "Nobody. Come on. Let's just finish this last order, and I'll treat you to a nice dinner today!" I look out the window. Yosef is getting into a car with Clara Lawson, the bakery owner. She slips into the passenger seat like she's done it a thousand times. A minute later, my phone vibrates. I tap it open with my numb fingers. It's a new Instagram post from Clara, showing a pink rose bouquet with a sliver of a black suit in the background. The caption reads, "A guy who buys me flowers, works overtime with me, and takes me out for dinner? He's a keeper!" I like the post, put my phone down, and quietly tell the waiter to bring out the food. I've spent three months trying to snag a table at this place. No way am I letting good food go to waste. Besides, I'm leaving this city in three days and putting an end to this broken marriage.

One Year to Lose You Maya Bennett has twelve months left to live. At twenty-one, she has everything: bestselling books, wealth, and a man who loves her enough to kneel with a ring in his hand. So she breaks his heart. On the night he proposes, Maya tells Ray she has fallen out of love. That she wants someone else, she walks away before he can see her fall apart because it’s easier to be hated than mourned. Then she meets Jay, a stranger in sportswear who can’t pay his taxi fare, so she thought… but in the real sense, he is the man the city knows as billionaire Jay Naire. She offers him a deal: pretend to be her boyfriend for one year. Make it convincing for Ray to forget her before she’s gone, and Jay agrees. But the more they fake it, the more real it becomes. And before the year runs out, Maya finds herself trapped between two men, the one she tried to save, and the one who refuses to let her go. Will twelve months be enough to lose both of them? Or will she run out of time first?

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."