You Walked Away When I Needed You Most

On the night of our wedding, my husband’s childhood sweetheart, Sabrina Young, posted a cryptic message online—she was standing on the edge of a cliff, threatening to jump.

Panic-stricken, my husband sprang up, ready to rush to her side.

But his father grabbed his arm and said coldly, “If you don’t stay and complete the wedding tonight, the Linwood family will no longer acknowledge you as our son.”

In the end, he stayed.

The next day, news broke—Sabrina had fallen off the cliff. Dead.

But my husband didn’t cry. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes were dry. His expression blank.

Thirty years later, after I had given my youth, loyalty, and health to the Linwood family, I lay gravely ill on my deathbed. That was when my husband brought our son into the room—and poured gasoline all over me.

“Claire,” he sneered, “if you hadn’t clung to the Linwood family for status, I could’ve lived happily with Sabrina.”

His next words crushed whatever life I had left in me.

“To be honest, that son you raised so lovingly—he was never yours. He’s a test-tube baby, made using Sabrina’s egg. You raised her child for thirty years! Are you mad? Are you in pain?”

He lit the match.

I died engulfed in flames—betrayed, broken, and alone.

Then I opened my eyes.

And I was back. Back in the bridal chamber. Back on our wedding night.

——

“If you don’t stay and complete the wedding today, the Linwood family will not have you as a son!”

Mr. Linwood’s stern voice rang in my ears.

The sting of fire still haunted my skin. My whole body trembled as the weight of my past life came crashing down on me.

Crimson ribbons and floral garlands adorned the room. The air smelled of fresh flowers and incense. It was real—I was reborn.

Ethan Linwood stood nearby, his eyes bloodshot, his expression twisted in resentment.

“Don’t think I’ll fall in love with you just because you forced me to stay,” he spat. “I’ll hate you for the rest of my life!”

His voice—vicious and cold—echoed the same hatred he’d shown when he burned me alive.

A chill swept through my bones. My fingers shook uncontrollably.

Mr. Linwood turned toward me, his voice softer now. “Don’t mind him, Claire. He’s just angry.”

“I watched you grow up. You’re capable, smart, and far better than Sabrina in every way.”

He patted my shoulder warmly. “Take care of Ethan. The ceremony starts in half an hour.”

As he walked out, cane tapping steadily, Ethan suddenly hurled a teacup at me.

“You’re so ugly you shouldn't be seen in that bridal makeup. How dare you compare yourself to Sabrina? You disgust me!”

The cup shattered against my forehead. A sharp sting followed. Blood trickled down my face.

But I didn’t cry. This pain was nothing compared to the agony I endured in my past life.

Ethan froze. For a split second, guilt flickered in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you dodge?” he muttered.

Then his face twisted again, cruel and mocking. “Oh, I get it. You’re trying to get sympathy—bleed a little, then go crying to my parents like a pitiful little puppet.”

“Claire, you’re a shameless, disgusting woman.”

As he hurled insult after insult, something inside me broke free.

For years, I have tried so hard. Tried to win him over. Tried to be enough.

But now I saw the truth: it had all been a cruel joke.

My parents, loyal employees of the Linwood family, had died in a car crash saving Mr. Linwood’s life. I was five when they took me in, raised me like one of their own.

Back then, Ethan used to cling to me, calling me "sister," trailing behind me wherever I went.

Until Sabrina arrived.

Her defiance, her wildness—it fascinated him. And from then on, he was lost to her.