Reborn in the Outbreak My Husband Stole My Ticket for His First Love

We were supposed to be on our honeymoon.

My husband and I had used our vacation days to travel to Estara, only to walk straight into the outbreak of a new virus. Once infected, you had three months to live—no exceptions.

With no way out, my clearance status earned me the only two return tickets available through the Embassy.

I pressed my hand against my stomach—my baby, not yet three months along—and told my husband, breathless with relief, "Victor, we're not going to die."

But on the day we were supposed to leave, Victor Delgado said, "I gave one of the tickets to Ina. She's seven months pregnant."

Ina Cobb. The girl he'd loved and lost when they were young. His moonlight. The one who got away.

For the sake of the child inside me, I got on my knees and begged him to take the ticket back. He hesitated—one single second—then refused, his voice cold as stone.

"Ina and her baby need that ticket more. The thing in your belly is barely a month along. That's not even a life."

In the end, I watched him board the plane with Ina while I stayed behind. I died in a foreign country, and my baby died with me.

Then I opened my eyes.

Two tickets. Right there in my hand.

……

Half an hour ago, I had called the Embassy. Because of my clearance, I'd been granted the only two seats available.

Memories of my past life flashed through my mind like a film reel—

Landing on the final frame: me on a freezing hospital bed, a ventilator forced down my throat, dying in despair.

My body reduced to ash. Scattered across foreign soil alongside thousands of others.

I made it back to the hotel twenty minutes earlier than I had in my previous life. And the moment I stepped inside, I heard Victor's voice drifting from the bathroom. He was on the phone.

"Don't be scared, Ina. I'll find a way to get tickets."

"For the baby's sake, you have to stay strong. You're a strong mother. Trust me—I won't let you or the baby die."

His voice was gentle. Tender in a way I had never once heard directed at me. On the other end, broken sobs crackled through the speaker.

"Victor... thank you for still being so good to me. If I hadn't been born into that parasitic family, I never would have left you."

Then Ina's voice turned bittersweet. "By the way—you came to Estara for your honeymoon, didn't you?"

Victor made a small sound of confirmation, then added, almost eagerly, "But I also came to see you. I heard you got divorced. I didn't feel right leaving you here alone."

I sat on the couch with the tickets in my hand and smiled. A cold, brittle smile.

So that was why he'd insisted on Estara out of every country in the world. It was never about me. It was about her.

The joke wrote itself. Before we left, he'd told me Estara was the most romantic destination he could think of. That he wanted to give me a trip I'd never forget. It took dying and coming back to realize every word of it had been a lie.

The bathroom door handle turned. Victor stepped out, saw me, and something flickered behind his eyes—panic, sharp and unmistakable. But he smothered it in an instant.

He crossed the room with a smile, sat down beside me, and pulled me into his arms the way he always did, nuzzling into my neck. "Hey, babe. When did you get back?"

Our bodies were pressed together. But where his warmth used to comfort me, now it only made the cold sink deeper—straight into my bones.

I pushed him away, keeping my expression perfectly neutral. "Just now. You came out right as I sat down."

He didn't think twice about it. Didn't notice the shift in my tone. If anything, he looked relieved. Then his voice dropped, heavy and somber.

"Babe... if we can't get out of here, I'll stay and die with you."

I said nothing.

Inside, I was laughing.

When he talked to Ina, he was careful, reassuring, promising her he wouldn't let her die. When he talked to me, the best he could offer was dying together. And in my last life, he hadn't even done that—he'd taken the ticket and boarded the plane with her.

I still remembered the way he'd wrenched his hand free from mine. The performance of agony on his face as he said, "Freya James, I'm my mother's only child. I'm all she has—she's raised me alone. If I die, she won't survive it. But don't worry. I'll treat your parents like my own."