Reborn, I Handed My Husband Divorce Papers and a Boarding School Form

I died in the kitchen, and they were laughing in the next room before my hands went cold.

The other woman planned my funeral.

My twelve-year-old son served her tea and called her mom.

So when I opened my eyes back at that dinner table, ten years younger, I already knew exactly how this ends.

Noah shoved away the meal I'd cooked and said, "Why can't you be sweet like Aunt Joan?"

Edward chuckled into his rice. "Exactly. Who are you sulking for?"

My fingers found the two folded papers I'd slid under my plate an hour ago.

Divorce papers.

A boarding school enrollment form, signed.

I set them on the table between the cooling dishes.

"Done. Go live with sweet."

I gave you twenty years last time.

I bled them into your ulcers, his tutoring, her prescriptions.

I mortgaged my family's pharmacy to cover your debt, and you put the deed in your name.

This time I'm taking it all back—the house, the money, and the one thing you never knew I made.

Edward's smile cracked when he read the second page.

Because the boarding school address wasn't for our son.

***

My knuckles rested on the two folded papers that had just slid across the table.

One second ago, I was bleeding out on the cold kitchen tiles of my past life. Now, the warmth of a porcelain plate pressed against my palm.

Noah shoved the soup bowl away, the ceramic screeching against the wood. I had simmered that soup for three hours.

"Why can't you be gentle like Aunt Sylvia?" Noah complained, crossing his arms.

Edward chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Exactly. Who are you throwing a tantrum for, Joan?"

I didn't cry. In my previous life, that exact sentence had bled me dry for ten years. Now, I just stared at the box of stomach pills sitting next to Edward's hand. I had developed that slow-release formula myself, and he took it from my lab like it was household inventory.

Seven years ago, I mortgaged my family's street-front pharmacy. I dumped $480,000 in cash into the black hole of Edward's company. The deed ended up in his name. I still hadn't gotten that piece of paper back.

A phone buzzed in Edward's pocket. He stood up, muttering an excuse about a work call, and stepped out onto the balcony. Through the crack in the glass door, I heard Sylvia's sweet, sticky voice.

"It must be so hard keeping my sister-in-law company at home."

I picked up the two documents and pushed them to the center of the table, right between the cold dishes.

Edward walked back in, sliding his phone into his pocket. He noticed the papers and frowned. "What's this?"

He grabbed the first one, scanning the text. "A boarding school application?" He glanced at Noah, who was busy picking at his food. "We agreed Noah isn't going to boarding school."

"Read the second one," I said.

Edward flipped to the next form. His smile cracked. He stared at the name on the admission line. It wasn't Noah's.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice trailing off as he looked up at me.