Why Does The Protagonist In 'The Square' Make That Choice?

My brother and I get into a car accident. My heart is ruptured—I need emergency surgery. But my mother, the hospital director, calls every available doctor… to my brother's room. He only has a few scrapes, yet she orders a full-body scan for him while I lie there bleeding out. I beg her to help me, but she snaps, visibly annoyed, "Can't you stop fighting for attention for once? Your brother almost injured a bone!" In the end, I die on the operating table. But after the news of my death breaks, my mother, who has always hated me, completely loses her mind.

When I opened my eyes, my sister Serena Shaw was kneeling in front of me, sobbing with a fruit knife pressed near her wrist. “Nora, I swear I didn’t mean it. I had too much to drink. I don’t even know how Lucas and I…” I almost laughed. Because I had seen this scene before. In my last life, Serena cried like a victim after sleeping with my fiancé, Lucas Arden. Everyone comforted her. Lucas married her to save her reputation. And I was pushed into a marriage with Graham West, Serena’s abandoned fiancé. Before the wedding, Lucas showed me my name tattooed on his wrist and promised he would only love me. I believed him. I wasted five years beside a husband who wanted my sister, waiting for a man who had married her. Then Serena died. I thought Lucas would finally come back to me. Instead, I found him at the funeral home, holding her photograph like he had lost the love of his life. “She was my wife,” he told me. “Let it go, Nora.” At my birthday party, Lucas and Graham fought over Serena on the rooftop. One had married her. One had never stopped wanting her. While they fought over her, I was shoved into traffic and died under the headlights. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the beginning. This time, I thought I was the only one who remembered. I was wrong. Lucas remembered. Graham remembered. And even with a second chance, both of them still chose Serena. This time, I would not be traded, chosen, or discarded. This time, I would build something none of them could take from me.

Choices, life if full of them and each one offers several paths to walk down. Mary knows all about choices. It was because of a string of them she went from living a happy life with her parents to end up an orphan working in the castle kitchen. Mary is now working hard while praying she wouldn't be kicked out on the street. The man she loves, her best friend, doesn't see her but is courting another woman who does her best to make Mary feel worthless. To top everything off, the sickness is back in the city which means Mary's only refuge is gone. She is trapped and she feels like a trapped animal. That is when Lady Tariana comes back into Mary's life. She was the one that saved Mary when she was a child. Now she is back and she offers Mary new choices, travel back with Lady Tariana to her home. It's just one choice, but with each of the choices comes a myriad of new choices and consequences. Can she leave her love behind? Would she managed to survive in a new world? And what about magic? Does it really exist? Time is running out and she needs to make her decision or the world will make it for her.

My fiancé presented two engagement rings—one for me, one for my sister to choose first. The first was a three-carat fancy pink diamond, flown in from Antwerp, the kind that made dealers go quiet. The second was a plain platinum band, standard issue, the sort you buy off the tray as a backup. For the first time in my life, I pointed at the pink diamond. "I'll choose first this time." Dante Moretti ran his hand through my hair, the way you soothe a restless dog. "Eleanor, you know Grace has always been particular. If she can't have the best, she'd rather have nothing. You've never cared about any of this. The other one is fine." I didn't answer. My chest felt hollow. We'd grown up together—his father ran the West Coast territory, mine the East. But in Dante's eyes, I'd always been the second daughter, the one who got what Grace didn't want. Every summer, he'd cut watermelon and bring the first plate to Grace. She'd take the center slice—sweetest, seedless, deepest red. He'd push the rest toward me—the pale pink near the rind. "This part's still good. Just not as sweet." When he bought his first Maserati, Grace picked the front seat—less motion sickness. He gestured at the back. "A little tight, but you can pick either side." Even our love was secondhand. He'd loved Grace first. She chose her academic career over him. So Dante, wounded and restless, came to me. In his world, Grace was always the first choice. I looked at the platinum band and pushed it across the table. "Give them both to Grace. I don't want either."

By the seventh year of my engagement to Tristan, he postponed our wedding for the third time. The reason was simple. His childhood sweetheart, Gabriella, had returned to the country. She had just gone through a divorce and was emotionally unstable. Tristan personally retrieved every invitation we had sent out, his tone calm and steady. "Gabby has no one by her side right now. I can't upset her at a time like this." I held the ring that had already been resized twice and asked, "What about me?" Tristan glanced at me. "You're different. You're sensible." I had been hearing that word for seven years. Sensible. When his startup failed, I sold the old house my grandmother had left me to help him pay off his debts. When he suffered a gastric hemorrhage, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight and missed my own promotion defense. When his mother said my background was too ordinary for him, he only rubbed his temples and said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me." Every time, I nodded. He once told me that no matter how thick the fog became, he would always leave a light on for me. Until the day Gabriella stood in front of the mirror wearing my wedding dress and smiled as she asked, "Victoria, you don't mind, do you? Tristan said your wedding's being postponed anyway." Tristan stood behind her. He did not deny it. He even reached out and adjusted her veil for her. The fog lamp he had given me with his own hands sat by the display window of the bridal shop. It was still lit, illuminating someone else in the white dress I had waited seven years to wear. Only then did I realize that some roads were not lost because the fog was too thick. It was because he had never planned to come for me at all.

Luca Moretti was the heir to the Moretti family, and my childhood sweetheart, the boy I had loved for five years. He always said I would be his wife once he took over the family. Then one night, with his arms still around me, he asked for another woman’s number. “Bella, we’re going to get married sooner or later.” “But do you really expect me to spend the rest of my life with only one woman?” “I won’t let anyone touch the position of Mrs. Moretti. You’re smart enough not to make trouble over this.” That was when I finally understood. He wanted my loyalty, my patience, and my silence. But he had never planned to give me the same. The day I moved out of his house, Luca blocked the door. “We’re not over. I can have fun, and so can you. Why are you acting like this?” I picked up my suitcase. “No.” “I’m traditional.” Later, when he finally came back for me, his eyes bloodshot and his voice breaking as he begged me to give him one last chance, I looked at the ring on my finger and smiled. “Sorry.” “I don’t take back what someone else only remembers after letting go.”