Why Does The Protagonist Leave In 'All The Lives We Never Lived'?

"You were never her, Aria. You were just... there." Jason's words echo in my head as I stand in the back of the church, watching him mourn another woman on her sister's wedding day. Isabelle. The perfect dead girlfriend. The ghost I've been competing with for three years. I thought I could be enough. I thought love could grow where grief once lived. But when I find the evidence, when I see the hotel receipts, the text messages, the photos of Jason with Isabelle's sister Violet, I realize the truth. I was never the love story. I was the intermission. What I don't know yet is that nothing about my marriage was real. Not Jason's cruelty. Not Violet's affair. Not the stranger's rescue. They've all been playing a game, and I'm the prize they're willing to destroy each other for. When the truth comes out, when I discover why Isabelle really died and who's been pulling the strings, I'll have to decide: Do I let them destroy me, or do I burn their whole world down?

On the day of our wedding, my fiance Thomas Warsh was killed in a car accident on the way there. His adopted sister rushed toward me, clutching his ashes, accusing me of being a jinx who brought him misfortune. I was drowning in grief when a line of floating comments suddenly appeared before my eyes. [You must remain a widow for three years for your deceased husband. After three years, he will be reincarnated and return to love you again!] [Don’t ever remarry. Otherwise, the male lead will never rest in peace, and you will suffer for the rest of your life!] That was when I learned that my fiancé and I were the hero and heroine of a novel. Only by following the spoilers in the comments and completing the storyline could I reunite with him. I did not remarry. Guided by the comments, I remained a widow for three years, and then another three. However, it was not until I suddenly died from a severe illness that I discovered the truth–the comments had all been written by Thomas. He had faked his death, changed his appearance, married his adopted sister, and fed me endless empty promises so I would continue to slave away for the Warsh family. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day before the wedding.

On the day I was supposed to get engaged to my childhood sweetheart, Noah Pratt, I escaped. As I flew out of the country, I deleted all forms of contact with him. Six years later, I had to return to oversee the moving of my parents’ graves. At the entrance to the cemetery, I bumped right into Noah. He gripped my wrist while gazing at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Why did you run away?” he asked. He had grown very thin. Heavy bags were under his eyes. It was as if haunting dreams had plagued his nights. “Because I didn’t want to marry someone I didn’t love,” I replied. He swayed on his feet as if the rug had been swept from under him. “Is there anything else?” I asked. But he remained silent. I waited patiently before walking past him. I had not lied. Indeed, I had burned out that love for him in the first three years I spent overseas.

After I resign from my job as a forensic pathologist and return to my rural hometown to enjoy a laidback, leisurely life, I feel totally at peace. In contrast, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Jessica Lester, starts panicking for real. She keeps begging me to stay. "Dr. Gardner, even though you're not that talented, I still hope you can stand beside me and speak up for those who have died unjustly!" I roll my eyes coolly and leave without looking back. In my previous life, Jessica is an intern put under my care. But every time we conduct an autopsy, she watches from the side but somehow manages to describe the victim's experiences before death ahead of me. She even uses wording that is identical to what I am thinking. I cannot make sense of it. In later autopsies, I give everything and go all out to prove myself, but even when she is not present, she can still iterate my findings at length. From then on, everyone idolizes her. Meanwhile, I become a laughingstock even if I am the most authoritative forensic expert in the state. Later on, the enraged family members of victims come to my doorstep every day. They lambast me and say that I am unworthy of being a forensic pathologist. They eventually set my house on fire, and I die miserably in the flames. When I open my eyes again, I return to the day I take Jessica to her first autopsy.

After writing an essay about the future I wanted, I made a desperate appeal to my parents, just as Aaron Wade was likely doing in the hall of a business his family owned. The appeal lasted two days. Our demand was simple: annul the engagement between us. Others might have found this confusing, but I knew exactly why it mattered. In my previous life, I married Aaron and gave him everything. I devoted my career to him and stood at the peak of his business empire. He repaid me by forcing me to take the fall for Rebecca, a so-called heiress. I was arrested and sent to prison. "Had you not forced us into an engagement the moment you got into Iale University, I would have ended up with her instead," he sneered. "You owe her this, Bernadette. It's time you paid up." Even my own parents joined in. "You robbed Becky of what she deserves. Think of this as your divine retribution!" They had supported the engagement back then. Rage overwhelmed me and triggered a cardiac arrest. I died on the spot. While my body lay cold in the morgue, Aaron and Rebecca held a lavish wedding at a five-star hotel to celebrate their union. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I had written about the future I wanted. Now I knew what that future looked like. It had none of these people in it. This time, I would live for myself.

“Are you trying to punish me? I…I don't know how many times I can apologize even if it wasn't my fault that I almost—” “I never asked you to. You do whatever you want, Niya, and I really don't care. Neither should you bother with what I do.” “You're hurt. You're hurt, Alex, and you're acting out. Don't worry we could talk this through. This isn't you.” I try to reach him again but he shoots me a deadly glare that pierces through my skin like a dagger. “Sure it is. You've just never seen me like this. You don't know what I look like when I'm not in love with you,” his brows grow together. “Now we’ve had enough of your drama. You'll find the papers and enjoy the party or use the fucking door.” He pulls away and my eyes cloud again. My ears and heart find it hard to process what is actually going on. The looks on their faces tell me it is awfully too late—I have already lost everything. “Niya, careful now,” my grandmother slowly tugs at my arm as if that will somehow make everything better. “We have guests. Don’t cause a scene.” A scene? I have literally just seen a whole movie, ma. ************* My name is Niya Kendrick. I’m 25, an author who once believed she had the perfect life. But how quickly can everything I love be stripped away in the blink of an eye? Or worse, what if the life, the family I’ve cherished has always been a blatant lie, a mere fragment of the truth? Now, I’m awake, and reality is far harsher than any dream.