Quackity Face

When my husband, Austin Hart, and I participated in the earthquake disaster relief, he discovered the corpse of his first love, Stacy Deleon, in the collapse zone. That night, Austin left a suicide note behind before jumping off the building with our son, Clifford Hart, in order to reunite with Stacy in the afterlife. Only then did I realize that both Austin and Clifford never cared about me, to begin with. When I was reborn, I returned to the moment when Austin first asked for a divorce. This time, I agreed to the divorce immediately. I even gave the custody of the three-year-old Clifford to Austin right away. Five years later, we meet again at an auction. Austin laces fingers with Stacy while taking Clifford's hand with the other. He mocks me, "It's only been five years, Kendra. You're really that shameless now, huh? You can't wait to latch onto me again now that you've found out I'm here!" Clifford mocks me as well. "Mom… Wait, you should be Ms. Powell to me now. You should stop pestering my dad already. My parents and I are living a very happy life right now." I just ignore them. Instead, I grab my daughter, Faye Gilmore, who has been sneaking food off the table, and steer her back to our seats. But Austin flies into a fit of rage instantly. A vein pops out of his hand, which is still laced with Stacy's fingers. "You really are shameless, Kendra Powell! We've only been separated for five years, yet you already have a daughter that old? I can't believe you're willing to resort to such despicable methods just to make me jealous! Which bastard did you have that bastard child with, huh?"

My husband asked me if bras were more comfortable without underwire, and I was happy that he had finally become more mature. The next day, his assistant snatched the parcel I received in the mail, saying that it had the wrong address. That night, I saw Samantha Davis post on her social media, with the caption, “My boyfriend bought this for me. Isn’t it pretty?” It was a selfie taken in a hotel mirror, and there was a beautifully decorated box containing a bra lying beside her. So, as it turned out, it was not that men became mature later in life, it was that you weren’t the one they were willing to become mature for. Naturally, I gave the post a like and took a screenshot before sending it to my husband. "What a waste. You could have gotten an 20% discount if you bought the whole set."

On the day before New Year's Eve, I didn't shut the window all the way, and my little sister sneezed. My parents kicked me out and ordered me to collect firewood in the dark. Inside, the family crowded around her, laughing as they handed her presents. I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I slung the basket onto my back before heading into the mountains through the wind and snow. I didn't find any firewood. I found a man instead. His leg was wedged in a crack between rocks, bloody enough to scare me. When he saw me, he said in a hoarse voice, "Get me out of here, girl. I can give you whatever you want." I looked up at him, my eyes finally focusing. "Really? Then I want you to be my dad."

On our Christmas break road trip, my cousin Felix Lloyd spotted some high-powered speakers at a highway rest stop. He had to have them—said he wanted to "blast it." "It's Christmas. We finally get to see everyone! We need some vibe!" My wife, Lana Ramsey, smiled and helped him pay. "Young people have energy. They know how to enjoy life." I yanked the power cord out. "Those aren't for regular cars. This is an EV. Overload it, and the whole system fries. Then what—just stuck in the middle of nowhere?" Lana's parents, Vincent and Donelia, booed me, calling me a buzzkill. Felix cranked the volume all the way up. Lana glared at me. "Say one more word and get out. I'll drive." Later, the speakers fried the battery system. We were stranded in total darkness on a rough mountain road. They finished the last of the food, then shoved me out to "go find help." I slipped, rolled down the slope, and died. When I opened my eyes, I was back—right when Felix jammed the speaker plug into the charging port. I grabbed a few more subwoofers and handed them over. "One isn't enough. Add more. That's how you really crank it."

My wife, Chelsea Sloane, has always been an avid user of computers when it comes to work. But one day, she suddenly falls in love with the idea of using pen and paper. In fact, she loves one particular black pen to the point that she refuses to let anyone touch it. Unable to endure her twisted obsession over that pen, I decide to bring up divorce before her on our wedding anniversary. Enraged, Chelsea points at me and yells, "Are you seriously getting a divorce over a pen?" I reply coolly, "Yup. It's precisely that."

"How can you say that about me, Nathan? I never had a kid!" Aaron Fuller protests. My wife, Jenny Green, stands protectively in front of him. "That's enough! You can't slander Aaron just because you're jealous of him. Just you wait, Nathan. I haven't settled the score with you for calling Aaron this afternoon and insulting him!"

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world. A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award. But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio. "All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares. Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now." Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off. I stand in the corner, my heart in despair. As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

I donated 45 million to the city's best kindergarten, but my daughter failed the enrollment interview. She was a polymath. Furious, I demanded an explanation from admissions. She hurled an assessment file at my face. "Your daughter's brilliant, but you're the exact opposite! You're dead last among the parents!" She continued, "The others have tech domes! You're nothing but a regular Ivy League graduate! Your degree's worth about as much as toilet paper!" The other teachers laughed as well. "If we admit her daughter, it's going to look bad on the other kids. She can't take that responsibility." "Yeah, I can't believe she's demanding an explanation from Ms. Johnson. Her husband is the kindergarten's biggest stakeholder. He can make sure her daughter has nowhere to go." The admission teacher shoved me away. With disdain in her eyes, she said, "Out of my sight if you know what's good for you. My husband is picking me up in his Rolls-Royce. His car plate alone is worth more than your life! It's lucky 777! Only one in Georgeport!" Three sevens? That was my husband's car. I laughed mirthlessly and texted my husband. "I had no idea you had another wife behind me."

The whole city’s paparazzi knows that Cade Finley would rather sleep with a nightclub escort than with me. The question they ask daily is: When will Mrs. Finley finally give away her precious "first time"? In front of the media cameras, Cade calmly turned towards me. "We can each have our own fun. If you don't like what I'm doing, you can go look for a man too." With that, he casually shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away. That night, he was photographed with his new fling in bed, and it made the trending news once again. While everyone thought I would just sit and wait until dawn, I contacted the paparazzi and bought a trending topic spot. Then, I tore up my lace nightgown, messed up the sheets, and took a bedroom photo from a third-person perspective. I then sent an anonymous message to Cade: "Bro, your wife is amazing. Let me know when you're getting a divorce."

I knew perfectly well that people from the Emirates do not eat pork. Yet this time, I watched in silence as my husband's childhood sweetheart insisted on placing a pork dish on the table. In fact, I even supported her decision. In my past life, when our company hosted a welcome banquet for powerful investors from the Emirates, she had been desperate to flaunt her cooking. Against all reason, she forced a pork dish onto the menu. I stopped her then. I explained that pork was forbidden by religious belief, and that offending the investors could cost us everything. If they withdrew their funding, the company's finances would collapse overnight. She took my warning as jealousy. In a fit of rage, she ran out of the banquet hall and was struck by a car, leaving her in a permanent vegetative state. I thought my husband would break down. Instead, he remained calm, stayed through the dinner, and secured the investment in surprisingly calmness. The truth revealed itself later. After the company went public, he brought me abroad under the guise of business, only to drag me onto a medical ship in international waters. As my kidney was cut from my body, I cried and asked him why. His answer came with a slap. "If you hadn't been jealous back then... If you hadn't tried to sabotage her, she wouldn't have ended up like that." I died in agony on the operating table. After my death, he used the money from selling my organs to cure his beloved childhood sweetheart, and the two of them went on to live rich, comfortable lives together. And then I opened my eyes again, back to the very day she decided to serve pork to the clients.