Reborn, I Agreed To Divorce—So Why Is He Crying?

On the hundred and eighth time Garrett asked for a divorce, I was reborn. His exhausted voice drifted to my ears: "There is nothing left between us.

Dragging this out is only draining both of us." In my past life, I was consumed by bitter denial, clinging desperately to my title as his wife.

It was not until his illegitimate child was born, and I threw a massive, screaming scene, that he had me locked away in a psychiatric ward.

Only when I was on my deathbed did he deign to see me one last time. "If I had known you were this unhinged, I would never have married you." So in this life, what obsession could possibly be worth more than my own survival? "She is pregnant," Garrett said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can have anything you want, except my last name.

If we can't settle this today, we can talk next time. We'll keep talking until you are ready to..." I cut him off. "No need to wait for the hundred and ninth time.

I agree to the divorce." The moment the words left my mouth, Garrett's eyelashes fluttered. He sat across from me, wearing that same weary, longsuffering expression.

It was as if I had been the one throwing endless, unreasonable tantrums for the past three years, while he was the saint who patiently endured me.

Now, he finally had the answer he wanted. "I am glad you have finally come to your senses." He gave a slight nod, a trace of relief slipping into his tone that even he didn't seem to notice.

Then, he pulled a set of papers from his briefcase and slid them across the table to me. "Three properties, twelve percent of the company's shares, the Maybach, and forty million in cash. Take a look.

Let me know if you want to add anything." He spoke with effortless fluidness, as if he had rehearsed this pitch a thousand times. His tone was sincere, carrying a patronizing touch of: I am doing this for your own good.

I looked down at the contract and felt a sudden, bitter urge to laugh. I knew that what he had secretly given to my adopted sister, Audrey, was worth far more than this pittance. Without a word, I picked up the pen and signed my name.

Garrett watched me finish. A strange, unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. The news traveled fast. By that afternoon, my social media feed had absolutely exploded. Isabella finally came to her senses. Garrett is finally free.

They should have divorced ages ago. Why drag him down for so long? Someone even texted the group chat: Garrett, let's get drinks tonight. Time to celebrate.

His friends were raising their glasses, cheering because he was finally rid of that suffocating woman. I scrolled through the messages one by one. I felt no rage, not even sadness.

Seven years of marriage, reduced by outsiders to a single word: liberation. Nobody thought to ask me: Does it hurt? My phone vibrated. It was my close friend, Beth.

She asked in a tentative, cautious voice, "Isabella, are you really letting him go?" I leaned against the window, watching the bleak, gray sky. "What choice do I have?

Some people cannot be kept, no matter how tightly you hold on." She fell silent for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh. "I guess this is it then." "Yeah, this is it." I hung up, opened my gallery, and began deleting Garrett's photos one by one.

Our marriage certificate photo: he had a faint, polite smile, while I looked incredibly foolish and ecstatic. Our honeymoon by the ocean: his arm wrapped tightly around my waist as the wind whipped my hair.

Our anniversary dinner: him cutting my steak while I secretly snapped a picture of his sharp profile. The last photo: our wedding day, him gently adjusting my veil.

The sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the church, bathing his face in a warm, gentle glow. My finger hovered over the screen for a long, quiet second before I pressed delete. Seven years of memories, erased in three seconds.

I closed my eyes, but my mind betrayed me, flooding with memories of my past life. When I found out Audrey's child was born, I had gripped the metal rails of her hospital bed, screaming and weeping, asking why she had stolen my husband.

Security guards had slammed me to the floor. With my cheek pressed against the freezing tile, I heard Garrett's voice from above: "Send her to the asylum. I have had enough of this." He didn't even look back.

I screamed, I wept, I begged, but nobody listened. Right before I drew my last breath, he finally visited. He stood by my bedside, wearing the dark gray wool coat I had bought for him, looking as handsome as ever.

Looking at my emaciated, unrecognizable body, his final words to me were: "If I had known you were this unhinged, I would never have married you." I opened my eyes. Night had fallen outside.

In this life, I will never let myself end up like that again. I will make them pay for every drop of blood they took from me.

2 The next day, I went back to our penthouse to pack my things. I pushed the door open to find Audrey lounging on the living room sofa, cradling a maternity pillow. She was wearing Garrett's oversized cashmere cardigan.

Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her face was painted with complete smugness. Seeing me, she smirked and stood up slowly, deliberately flaunting her sixmonthpregnant belly as she swayed toward me. "You're finally here, Isabella.

I thought you weren't even going to bother packing your things. I already sorted through everything for you. Have a look and see what you want to take." Her voice was soft and sweet, like honey laced with arsenic.

As she brushed past me, she lowered her voice to a venomous whisper. "This place is massive. The baby and I are living so comfortably here. Oh, by the way, I replaced the bed in the master bedroom.

The old one; Garrett and I felt it brought bad luck." Every word was a calculated stab. She spoke with the same familiar tone I had used when I first welcomed her into my home. Audrey was my adopted sister, raised in my household since childhood.

My parents had treated her even better than they treated me. After I married, I felt terrible about her living alone, so I offered to let her stay with us in our new home. I had held her hand and told Garrett, "This is my sister.

You must treat her well." He had smiled and promised he would. And what did he do? She wound up in my bed wearing my nightgown, with my husband sleeping right beside her.

I stared at Audrey's round stomach, and flashes of my previous life crossed my mind. It was after this child was born that Garrett lost the last of his patience.

Bound to a metal frame in the asylum, I had heard that Garrett had transferred all his assets to this newborn son. I couldn't even cry. Pure hatred surged through me like molten lava. My nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood.

I wanted to rip her lying face to shreds and force her to suffer the exact agony she had inflicted on me. But I couldn't. I hadn't been given a second chance just to end up locked in a padded cell again.

I drew a deep breath and began packing with an emotionless expression. There wasn't much: a few clothes, some books, and an old picture frame. That was the entirety of my sevenyear marriage.

Seeing my utter lack of reaction, Audrey grew agitated. "Why aren't you saying anything, Isabella? Is your heart breaking?" I looked up, the corners of my mouth curving into a chilling smile. "Audrey, what do you expect me to say?

Should I congratulate you?" She froze. "You can have this house," I continued. "I hope you enjoy living in my shadow." I grabbed my suitcase and walked out. Before leaving, I glanced subtly toward a hidden corner of the study.

Tucked away was a wireless spy camera I had installed the very day I signed the divorce papers. In my last life, I lost because I had no evidence. In this life, I will calculate every single move.

That night, Garrett met me to sign the final financial addendum.

He glanced at the papers I handed over and remarked, "Isabella, you've gotten a lot more sensible." I set my pen down and looked him in the eye. "Garrett, you think this is me being sensible?" His hand hovered over his coffee cup. "Don't play the victim," I continued. "Sleeping with your wife's adopted sister isn't exactly going to look great if word gets out, is it?" His brow furrowed, but he kept his temper in check.

I knew he wouldn't lash out over a little sarcasm. Right now, his greatest fear was me making a public scene. He needed me to walk away quietly and gracefully.

He needed the world to believe our divorce was an amicable split due to irreconcilable differences, rather than him knocking up my sister. I had read him perfectly. You see, I knew him inside and out. But he never truly knew me.

Just as I was about to leave after signing, Audrey suddenly walked in. She clutched her belly, her voice thick with tears. "Garrett, the baby keeps kicking. It hurts so much..." Garrett slammed his coffee cup down and rushed to her side.

He wrapped one arm around her waist while gently placing his other hand on her stomach, his voice melting into an incredibly tender tone. "Don't worry, sweetie.

I'm right here." The raw anxiety and tenderness on his face was something I had rarely seen in our seven years of marriage. Standing in the foyer, watching the display, a laugh bubbled up in my chest. How pathetic.

This man treated me like a lunatic, yet offered his absolute gentleness to her. And he didn't even suspect that the child she carried wasn't even his. I pushed the door open, letting the cold night wind rush past me.

Garrett's voice drifted from behind: "Get home safe." Why bother acting like you care now?

3 The next morning, I went to my design studio. The lock had been pried open. The interior was completely trashed.

My handdrawn sketches were shredded and scattered across the floor, my equipment smashed, and the wall defaced with bold red spray paint: WHORE, GET OUT. Those designs had taken me three grueling months to prepare for next month's exhibition.

Now, they were ruined. Before I could process the devastation, I heard the neighbors whispering nearby. "Did you hear?

Isabella finally agreed to the divorce." "Garrett is such a nice guy, Isabella must have done something awful to make him leave." A wave of dizziness hit me. How incredibly familiar. It was exactly like my previous life.

To shield Audrey, Garrett had spread rumors that I was mentally unstable, calling me a delusional stalker who refused to let him go.

Back then, I had torn away their polite facade, storming into his corporate headquarters to expose their dirty secrets. And what happened? Everyone labeled me a psychopath.

Garrett seized the opportunity, signing the commitment papers while I was screaming at the hospital. The medical report read: Paranoid Personality Disorder. Inpatient treatment recommended. Signed by Garrett.

Shaking off the ghosts of my past, I marched directly up to the whispering neighbors. "You call me a mistress. Tell me, who exactly is my lover?" Startled by my sudden appearance, they stammered and looked away, unable to answer.

Right then, Audrey appeared at the far end of the hallway. She glided over, her face wearing that familiar, innocent smirk. "Isabella, as for who your lover is, only you would know that." Her eyes gleamed with absolute triumph.

I looked at her with a deadpan stare. "Out of everyone standing here, only one of us is an actual homewrecker. Care to take a guess who?" Audrey's smug grin vanished, her face turning pale. The onlookers gasped, murmuring among themselves.

At that moment, Garrett rushed into the hallway. He stepped protectively in front of Audrey, glaring at me. "Isabella, the divorce is finalized.

Stop targeting Audrey." I stared back. "So you admit you are the ones behind these rumors?" He didn't deny it, nor did he confirm it.

He simply said, "You've crossed a line." "I've crossed a line?" I turned my gaze to Audrey. "Tell me, Audrey, have I ever mistreated you? Since we were children, did I ever deny you anything? I paid for your college tuition. I got you your job.

I welcomed you into my home. And this is how you repay me? By sleeping with my husband?" Audrey bit her lip, her eyes pooling with tears as she played the helpless victim.

I turned back to Garrett, letting every syllable sink in. "You destroy my life behind closed doors, then play the savior in public. You are the most repulsive creature on this earth." Garrett's eyes turned icy.

Yet, his calm, patronizing demeanor remained intact. "Isabella, you're being hysterical. Calm down before you make things even uglier." That was him: always composed, always protecting his image.

I stood tall, speaking with cold precision. "Garrett, if you think this is crossing the line, then buckle up.

I am going to show you what crossing the line actually means." I had returned from the dead to save myself and watch them burn, not to be their punching bag.

I spun around and walked out, leaving behind Audrey's quiet whimpers and Garrett's soft whispers: "Shh, don't cry, sweetie. It's bad for the baby." I quickened my pace, never looking back.

4 I didn't expect them to move so quickly. A handful of gossip bloggers were livestreaming outside my apartment, pointing their phone cameras at my front door.

Someone had dumped trash bags, splashed red paint across my doorstep, and spraypainted HOMEWRECKER across the wall. Standing a short distance away, the sheer absurdity of the scene washed over me.

The betrayed wife was being publicly branded a homewrecker, while the actual mistress slept peacefully in my exhusband's bed. I pulled out my phone and texted Garrett: Who dumped the trash at my door? No reply.

Ten minutes later, a bank notification popped up. A wire transfer with a brief note: Compensation. I stared the sum and laughed. Compensation, again.

He always thought money could resolve any crisis, as if my humiliation could be swept under the rug with a wire transfer.

I vividly recalled the first time he sent me "compensation." It was the day I found Audrey's lace underwear at the foot of our bed. I had returned early from a business trip, opened our bedroom door, and saw her bra lying right there.

Garrett had just stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still wet. When I demanded an explanation, his face didn't even twitch. "It's exactly what it looks like," he had said.

I screamed, threw things, and broke down like a madwoman, demanding to know why. He remained entirely silent. Finally, he transferred a large sum to my account and said, "We can divorce." But why?

Why did I have to be cast aside when this was my home too?

He stared at me for a long time before saying, "Isabella, given your colorful past, I was the only man willing to look past it and marry you." The room had fallen into a heavy, agonizing silence. That was the first time he used my trauma to stab me.

The incident in college wasn't my fault, yet in his mouth, it became the reason I wasn't worthy of him. He apologized later, claiming he spoke in anger. But I knew better. It wasn't an outburst; it was his truth. He had never actually accepted me.

Coming back to the present, I stared at the transaction on my screen. I didn't accept the money. Instead, I took a screenshot and saved it. Every single cent of his compensation was a paper trail. Then, I forwarded the screenshot directly to Audrey.

The very next morning, a vicious rumor exploded online: Isabella’s premarital affairs exposed. My name, my photos, and the trauma I had buried deep inside were splashed across gossip blogs and video essays.

I couldn't believe Garrett had shared my deepest wounds with her. What was I to him? A conversational piece? A token to please his new lover? I stared at the flood of vile comments. Why?

Why did the wrongdoers get to strut around like royalty while the victim was hunted down? Why did Garrett and Audrey get to walk away unscathed, while I was stripped bare for public amusement? My phone buzzed. It was Beth.

Isabella, I have all the files. I replied: Perfect. Another notification popped up on my screen: In three days, Garrett and Audrey will host their engagement gala at the InterContinental Hotel downtown.

I made a call. "Get me an invitation to the grand ballroom at the InterContinental." Three days later, dressed in a sleek, floorlength black dress, I walked through the grand entrance of the ballroom.

Audrey clung to Garrett's arm in a white trailing gown, smiling as if the entire world owed her its blessings. I pulled out my phone and started a live stream. "Hello, everyone.

I am Isabella." I walked toward the stage, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor.

Garrett finally spotted me, his pupils contracting instantly. "Today, I’m taking you all on a live tour of my exhusband and my adopted sister’s engagement gala."