Chapter 2

When Samuel came home, it was already late at night.

I was still sitting dazed on the sofa, replaying in my mind where exactly things had gone wrong, when exactly his heart had changed.

"Why are you sitting in the dark? What are you spacing out about?"

His tone was as gentle as always. He sat down next to me and naturally reached out to wrap his arm around my waist, acting so normal as if what I had seen earlier was just a dream.

I reflexively dodged his touch.

The atmosphere became awkward.

A hint of coldness flashed across Samuel's eyes. He had clearly noticed my abnormal behavior.

But as if tired of it all, he didn't inquire further.

"I'm going to bed first. You should get some rest too."

That night I slept poorly. Even though Samuel was right beside me, my mind kept flashing back to scenes of his death.

In our first life, he died instantly in the car accident. Blood poured out from his body, soaking through my shirt.

In our second life, we got married but didn't go on a honeymoon, so that car accident never happened.

But then a freak accident occurred.

He was picking me up after work when a billboard suddenly fell from above.

It landed squarely on top of him.

I watched helplessly as the tall man was crushed without a trace.

It was as if fate was determined to take his life.

I refused to accept it, so we came to our third life.

This time I quit my job. After we married, I hardly left his side for a moment, terrified that he would have an accident if I wasn't paying attention.

So we made it to his 28th birthday without incident.

On his birthday, the candlelight illuminated his sparkling eyes. In the warm glow, he professed his love to me, eyes glistening:

"Sophia, I'm so lucky to have you."

My heart was racing. But then his smile seemed to fade, his face becoming blurry.

An overwhelming sense of dread nearly knocked me over.

Then Samuel coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Perhaps too much time had passed, or perhaps my mind was too panicked to retain other memories.

I don't remember the name of his illness, it seemed to be some rare condition. His life ended so suddenly, almost absurdly abrupt.

My final memory is of a stark white hospital room.

In the deathly silence, only the faintly glowing monitor by his ear persisted in beeping, as if desperately clinging to his last traces of life.

How could I accept this? How could I possibly be okay with this?

Samuel and I met when we were young. Back then, I was a country bumpkin who had come to the city. Because I was pretty and had an enviable talent for dance, some girls in class started picking on me.

I endured and endured, until the day they knocked over my grandmother's pancake stand.

Amidst the mess on the ground, I held back tears as I helped my grandmother up. The girls stood there looking pristine and superior, laughing with shrill voices.

They called me Pancake Girl and told me to go back home and make pancakes.

My grandmother was mute. She moved her lips silently, gesturing to wipe the oil stains off my clothes.

The girls laughed even harder.

That's when Samuel appeared.

He was holding a camera and made one phone call to summon the school leaders.

He was a good student from a well-off family, quite an impressive figure in our small town.

It was evening, and though the day had been gloomy, somehow at that moment the sunlight broke through the clouds, shining directly onto Samuel.

He reached out his hand, holding a clean, neatly folded handkerchief.

The first thing he said was:

"I'm sorry I didn't come help right away. I wanted to get evidence on camera first."

Even now, I still remember how my heart pounded that day.

Fierce and strong, it sustained me as I traversed alone through countless worlds of his death.