When My Husband Chose My Sister Over Me Again

In this new life, I decided to put my sister's name on the marriage certificate.

This time, I fulfilled Oliver's wishes.

In this lifetime, I let my sister wear the Victorian-style dress and placed the engagement ring on her finger for him.

I personally arranged every meeting between him and my sister.

When he took her to New York, I swiftly headed south to attend college in San Francisco.

All because in my previous life, even into our fifties, he and our son still begged me for a divorce.

I surrendered their final romantic fate to them.

Living anew, I only want to spread my wings and soar, leaving love far behind.

...

"Just hand it over once you've filled in the name."

Oliver impatiently drummed his fingers on the table.

I stared at the marriage certificate, tracing the rough edges of the paper with my fingertips, my thoughts wandering.

In my past life, I solemnly filled in my own name as if it were a royal decree, and eagerly dragged Oliver to buy celebratory sweets.

In return, I received nothing but reproach from him because he was in a rush to make spice cake for Zara, who was feeling under the weather.

I replied indifferently, "Got it, got it."

I looked up at his agitated expression and the hand repeatedly checking his watch.

Today, he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his toned forearms.

I remember Zara loved this look on him, saying it made him look so clean and refreshing.

"If you're busy, just go handle your business," I said, suppressing the bitterness rising within me and pretending to be light-hearted. "I'll submit it once I'm done."

He visibly relaxed, his tone softening.

"Don't worry, since we're getting married, I'll take care of you," he said. "But you must stop being jealous of Zara. If others find out, it'll damage her reputation."

I remained silent. In my previous life, I tried to explain countless times,

but to him, I was always the jealous and petty sister,

unable to handle my gentle, kind-hearted sibling.

Without another word, he hurriedly left.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, yet my mind couldn't help but replay memories from my past life.

On our wedding night, he stayed with his sick sister all night, saying she had never been to New York before.

Even when our son was born, Oliver couldn't make it, too busy comforting Zara about her divorce.

Until my dying moments, our son continued to persuade me:

"Mom, just divorce Dad. You can't compare to Aunt Zara."

"Dad's been putting up with you for years, let him go."

Lying in the hospital bed, I watched my husband, indifferent and silent beside me.

It was this silence that spoke volumes.

I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood, then slowly released it.

No, not in this life. I won't repeat those mistakes.

I picked up the pen and in the applicant column, slowly wrote two words:

Zara Morgan.

Oliver, since you love her so much, have it your way.

I handed the completed application to the clerk, took the marriage certificate, and walked out of the registry office.

I didn't feel sad; rather, there was an indescribable sense of freedom.