Reborn Rich Wife: This Time I'm Running

Emma's POV

The autumn wind is scattering maple leaves across the garden like confetti at a funeral no one wants to attend. I'm standing at the edge of the crowd, a white rose trembling in my hand, staring at the photo of Mom. Patricia Watson, forever frozen in that gentle smile.

The rose slips from my fingers.

Everything tilts sideways. My body locks up, vision blurring. Then it hits. Memories that aren't supposed to exist yet, crashing through my skull like a freight train.

Hospital lights. Too bright, too cold. Nurses whispering: "Mrs. Blackwood's husband hasn't visited once..." Nathaniel in the hallway with a blonde woman. Her arms around his neck, lips pressed to his. The monitor beeping, then one long, endless note. And before all that, the diagnosis. One year from today. Stage IV.

My hand presses against my chest. My heart's pounding. I'm alive. I'm back. All the pain, the betrayal, the death, none of it has happened yet.

My eyes snap open. I'm still at the funeral. Still breathing hard, fingers shaking.

I've been given a second chance.

Someone touches my arm. "Mrs. Blackwood, your mother fought so hard. That experimental treatment was cutting-edge. Blackwood Medical really did everything they could."

I turn. It's one of the doctors from the group, his face carefully sympathetic.

"Thanks for coming," I say. The words feel hollow.

Another guest approaches, sighing. "Such a tragedy. But at least she got the best care money could buy."

Best care. In my past life, I believed that. In this life, I know better. Mom's treatment was never about saving her. It was Nathaniel showing off his company's technology. She was a test case. That five million wasn't hope, it was the price tag on three years of my life.

Footsteps behind me. I know who it is without turning.

Nathaniel's hand lands on my shoulder. Cold. Performative. Like he's checking a box.

My body goes rigid.

"You okay?" His voice is flat.

I lift my head. That perfect face. In my past life memories, I see him standing by my hospital bed with the same expression. The same barely hidden impatience.

I step away. His hand falls. "I'm fine. You should get back to your guests."

He frowns, irritation flashing across his face. But he doesn't push. Just turns and walks away, his suit cutting a sharp line against the autumn garden.

I watch him go. My fists clench. Nails digging into my palms. But I don't cry.

In my past life, I cried here. I was grateful he even showed up. This time, I only feel the irony.

Hours later, the funeral crowd has turned into a charity gala. Blackwood family tradition. Even on the day of a funeral, the social calendar goes on.

I've changed into a black evening gown that costs more than most people's rent.

Under the crystal chandeliers, everyone's already forgotten this afternoon. The champagne tower sparkles. Glasses clink. A piano plays something classical in the corner.

I'm at the edge of the ballroom, scanning the crowd. Nathaniel's in the center. Next to him stands an elegant blonde in a navy gown. Perfect posture, gracious smile.

Sophia Laurent. In my past life, it started tonight. The night my marriage became a joke.

Nathaniel raises his glass. His voice cuts through the chatter. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement."

The room goes quiet. Everyone turns.

He looks at Sophia. Something shifts in his face. A warmth I never saw in three years of marriage. "Dr. Sophia Laurent, one of Europe's top neurosurgeons, is joining Blackwood Medical as our Chief of Neurosurgery. Welcome her home."

Applause erupts. Guests rush forward. Sophia smiles, thanking them in English with a French accent.

I'm in the corner. Invisible. Watching Nathaniel and Sophia exchange looks that hold more feeling than our entire marriage combined.

My fingers tighten on my glass until my knuckles turn white.

In my past life, I told myself it was just professional. This time, I won't lie. The way he looks at her, that's how someone looks at a person they love. Me? I'm just a deal.

The memories flood back faster now.

In my past life. Standing in this same corner, watching Nathaniel with the newly returned Sophia. Telling myself to be understanding.

A year later. Nathaniel coming home later and later. Conferences, he said. Surgeries. I waited in the empty manor, dinner going cold.

Two years later. Holding my diagnosis with shaking hands, calling him. "Nathan, I need you..." His voice, distant and annoyed: "I'm in surgery. We'll talk later." Sophia's laugh in the background.

And finally. The hospital room. Empty except for me. The monitor beeping, then fading. I thought, if he could just come, just once. But he never did. A nurse told me later Dr. Blackwood left for a conference in France with Dr. Laurent.

It started tonight. In my past life, I watched them grow closer while I withered, got sick, and died alone while he was with her across the ocean.

Not this time.

The memories snap off. My eyes refocus on the ballroom. Nathaniel and Sophia are talking, and he's smiling. Actually smiling. In a way I never saw in three years.

I take a deep breath. The grief hardens into something else. Something sharper.

I stand and walk straight toward them. My heels click against the marble. Guests notice. Whispers spread. The room quiets.

I reach the table and pick up a glass of red wine. In one motion, I splash it across Nathaniel's white shirt.

The wine spreads across his chest like blood.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Sophia steps back, shocked. Nathaniel stands frozen, staring at me.

"Welcome back, Dr. Laurent." My voice is calm, almost pleasant. "Hope you enjoy working with my husband. Though I should say, my ex-husband."

I pull off the ring. The Blackwood family heirloom, worth a million. I hold it up so everyone can see.

Then I drop it into the champagne tower.

Glass shatters. Champagne sprays. The crystal pyramid collapses.

Guests cry out. Camera flashes start going off. Reporters. Good.

I face Nathaniel directly. "The transaction is over, Nathaniel. I paid for my mother's treatment with three years of my life. Contract's done. We're done."

The ballroom erupts in shocked whispers. Sophia looks between us, her composure cracking.

Nathaniel wipes at the wine, his face shifting from shock to fury. His jaw clenches, eyes blazing. "Emma, where do you think you're going without the Blackwood name? You've got nothing. No money, no family, no one. You're nobody without me."

I meet his gaze. No fear. Only relief.

I turn and walk toward the exit. Back straight, steps steady. Behind me, Sophia's bewildered voice: "Nathan, what just happened?"

He doesn't answer.

I step into the autumn night. Cold air hits my face, sharp and clarifying. I walk to the parking lot and find Mom's old car. A decade-old sedan, the only thing she left me.

In my past life, I drove this car taking Mom to the hospital. This time, it's taking me somewhere Nathaniel can't reach.

I slide into the driver's seat, grip the wheel, breathe. The engine starts. In the rearview mirror, the manor lights shrink.

My phone buzzes. The screen: "Nathaniel Calling."

Once. Twice. Three times. It doesn't stop.

I stare at it, expression blank. Then I press and hold the power button until the screen goes dark. I toss it onto the passenger seat.

In my past life, I endured three years and died alone in a hospital. This life, I'm living for myself. Nathaniel, your control, your coldness, your transaction, it's all over.

I press the gas pedal to the floor. The car merges onto the highway, heading into the darkness. In the rearview mirror, Boston's lights grow smaller and smaller.