Romans & histoires Rewriting My Third Life

She traced her finger through the rosary again and again, praying for his safety and long life. But no one knew that after each pilgrimage, she would slip away to a quiet corner and pray for Philip as well. She prayed that he would no longer die for her, that in another life, they might have a different ending. After Mason died, she burned the slips of paper where she had written her prayers for Philip. Amid the rising flames, a solemn, ethereal voice seemed to echo, "As you wished." The scene shifted. Mason had been reborn, and with calm authority, he stopped his men to find a doctor to awaken her memories.

I avoided Marcus and went to the study. When I unlocked my phone, I found exactly what I expected—Mirabelle was livestreaming. In my previous life, she had done the same thing, sharing her "day in the life of a rich family's housekeeper" online. She even claimed she was going to follow the lady of the house and challenge herself to reverse aging in thirty days, going from 40 back to 20. At the time, her viewers were in stitches, flooding the chat with comments. "Ma'am, you'd have to be remade from scratch. If you can go back to 20 in 30 days, I can go back to kindergarten!"

Finally, she found the real earrings inside the lining, gleaming back at her. "You…" She collapsed onto the couch. "When did you find out?" I folded my arms and thought for a moment. "I knew back in my last life." Mom scrambled backward in fear. "Irene, I was wrong. Please forgive me. Put the earrings on yourself. I can't take this anymore." She dropped to her knees. I was the only one who could save her now. If I put the earrings on, our lives would swap, and she would instantly recover. However, I wasn't stupid.

The protected reporting flagging the redirection. The correction happening. Slowly. This is what the third month looks like. It is not clean. It is not finished. It is becoming. I wanted you to know. She had ended with one more sentence. Vessa is now guiding someone. The formation in its third generation in Thornwall. I wanted you to know that too. The room received it. The specific texture of what real change looked like from the inside. Not clean. Not finished. Becoming. The two thirds and one third.

I need to rewrite my wrongs and most especially I need to do it right this time I've gotten more zeal to live, a reason to get better and fight back, I need my legs to walk again only then will I be able to make amends for my past mistakes and also get my wife to forgive me, and this time around I'll do whatever it takes to get her to forgive me even if it means being her slave after all I once treated her like a slave and I wouldn't mind if tables turn around this time, I'll do anything to get her to accept me back Hours later, the pilot announced that we'll be landing soon, I felt happy hoping I can be able to walk again, four years ago I lost the will to live but today I'm more than despe

The memory of Avala's words lingering in my mind. "Then are you going back to BloodMoon?" she pressed. "To be sincere, I hurt them more than they deserved in my first life," I admitted. "They did same in your second," she added. "And that is why I want to set everything straight in my third, and hopefully my last. I really don't want to be reborn again." Her voice lightened. "Interesting. So you want to go and apologize?" "Well, that seems like the right thing to do." I nodded, watching the beautiful glowing moon that had set itself upon the soft orange sky.

I asked curiously, "What about Lori? What would become of her in her next life?" "Lori Levaine owes you too much. She will become a dog and quietly watch over you in your next lives." With that, the ruler of the nether world waved his hand, and I was sent into the cycle of reincarnation.

I, on the other hand, fell ill with a fever for the next three days. The memory made me pull out my phone and book my plane ticket.

"Y-Yeah... why?" "Maybe there are clues in the notes. Is it still with you?" "I threw it away," she said, then switched the T.V. channel. She doesn't like late night shows anymore. More dramas and nonsense shows. "Oh," her friend said regretfully. "Keep the notes next time. You know... maybe one of these days he might introduce himself in a note." "His name is Third. That's always on the note, eh." "So, do you know anyone who has the same name?"

Nothing more. ​I looked at the flight details pinned to the inside of my notebook. In a few weeks, I would be thousands of miles away. I wouldn't be the girl who slapped a CEO in a bar, and I wouldn't be the maid who hid under a table. ​I went back to typing, the click-clack of the keys the only sound in the vast garden. I was rewriting my life, one chapter at a time, and for the first time in twenty-three years, I was the one holding the pen.