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After being reborn, I decide to return my fiancé to his true love. When he holds a singles party for her and doesn't want me to disturb him, I go to Faldora alone. He says I'm an annoyance, so I quit my job without hesitation. He doesn't feel good being in the same country as me, so I immediately migrate abroad. In the end, he tells me he wants to make his true love feel secure. I nod and accept someone else's proposal. Why am I so obedient and compliant? It's because of my past life. In my past life, his true love ended her life after I married him. He blamed me for separating them and subjected me to inhumane torture. This time, I just want to live my life. Later, when I'm taking a stroll with my family, he kneels before me and sobs in earnest. "I promise I'll be with you as long as you leave them, Audrey."

That night, I got off work early and brought home some late-night snacks. When I opened the door, I saw a pair of high heels carelessly tossed in the entryway and Gregory’s blazer thrown over the couch. His heavy breathing and the woman’s moans could be heard through the gap between the door and its frame. I was all too familiar with this sight. This time, I did not storm out like I used to. Instead, I sat quietly at the dining table and finished my cold pizza.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband, Damian Pyke, once again left me for his first love. He said, "Taking care of a child alone isn't easy for Waverly. You're both women—can't you show her some understanding?" Not only was I willing to understand Waverly Benson, but I was also ready to step aside entirely so they could raise her child together. So, I packed my bags and applied for an overseas architecture program through my workplace. However, he eventually regretted it, crying and begging me not to go.

Clayton Amos finally agrees to marry me during my fifth year as the antagonist of a novel. On the day of my wedding, the chandelier in the middle of the hall suddenly snaps and falls. At the most critical moment, he shoves me aside and runs over to protect Gladys Dawson, the protagonist of the novel, and his first love. Clayton's arm is slashed as a result, and blood pours out of the wound, dyeing his pristine white suit red. Meanwhile, Gladys remains unharmed in his arms. I hold a hand against the bleeding wound on my neck and finally accept the fact that Clayton never loved me. This is when the system appears and asks me, "Hailey Paltrow, would you like to abort your mission now?" I nod in silent response. "Since he's going to end up losing all four of his limbs and ultimately wish for death, I'll let him have it."

After dating Scott Kenta for 10 years, I said to him, "Scott, I'm pregnant." The file in his hands slipped and hit the floor. He frowned, clearly irritated. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "This is a critical moment—my company's going public. I never planned on having a child." "It's fine. Your career matters more," I said, smiling gently. He didn't catch the meaning behind my words. I was pregnant, yes. But he wasn't the father.

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

In our five years of marriage, my husband, Derrick Wickham, bails on me 99 times for his childhood sweetheart, Jessica Harson. This time, after he stands me up, I find two plane tickets to Frantines in his office. "I was planning to surprise you for our anniversary. Since you've already seen them, we'll just meet at the airport," he says icily. I eagerly pack and get myself ready, arriving early at the airport. I wait from the wee hours of dawn till the late hours of night, but Derrick fails to show up. Then, I see a post on Jessica's social media. "It's my birthday today. Though he doesn't have the time to go on a trip with me to Frantines, I forgive him because he brought me to the amusement park instead!" In the past, I'd have called him, crying and demanding answers. But this time, I'm truly done.

Thirty days into our argument, my girlfriend kissed her first love passionately right in front of me. I quietly asked my boss for a transfer to the Northern City branch, which was thousands of miles away. Her friends clapped and teased me. “Ivan, your girlfriend’s getting a new boyfriend. Aren’t you going to win her back?” I held her hand and sincerely said, “I’m sorry.” She looked down at me with a proud smile. “Okay, I forgive you. Tomorrow, pack your things. We’re going to see my parents.” I smiled and agreed. But she did not know I was leaving for Northern City that night.

I dated my lawyer boyfriend for five years. He canceled our wedding. Fifty-two times. First time? His intern messed up some paperwork. He ditched me at the beach to fix it. I waited all day. Alone. Second time, we were mid-ceremony when he bolted. Heard that intern was getting heat from another lawyer and left me to face the guests and their stares. After that, every time we tried again, there was always some "emergency" with her. Always. I finally hit my limit. I was done. Packed up and broke it off. But the day I left Ainsley? He totally lost it trying to find me.

Five years after I died, Delia—my wife, a doctor—tried to dump her first love's new mess on me again. She stormed into my old place, waving some fake agreement with my name on it, but all she found was dust. Panicking, she ran downstairs and cornered the shop owner. "William?" he said. "He's been dead five years. Heard the family of that malpractice case found him. Stabbed him up bad." Delia laughed it off, like the guy was making it up. "So what if he got suspended? He's still sulking over that?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell him this—he's got three days. If he doesn't show, I'm cutting off his sister's cancer treatment." She muttered something ugly, slammed the door, and left. The shop owner just watched her go, shaking his head. "There's no sister left," he said quietly. "She died years ago... couldn't pay for treatment."