My husband gave his life to his first love

Chapter 1

My husband, John, was straight out of a romance novel, but the leading lady was his first love, not me.

When our car crashed and burst into flames, he stayed trapped, frantically deleting proof that she’d borrowed $50,000 from him.

He’d rather die than see her burdened with debt.

I dragged him out, got horribly burned, and died because we couldn’t afford the treatment.

Now, reborn back to the moment before the crash, I’m making them both pay.

BANG! John swerved, hitting the guardrail hard. He’d rather hurt himself than risk a scratch on Sarah, his precious first love.

The smell of gasoline filled the air. My eyes snapped open. I was back!

My daughter cried. I held her close and started recording on my phone. Two and a half minutes to explosion.

John didn’t even glance back at our daughter. He scrambled for his phone, deleting Sarah’s IOU from the cloud, a loving smile on his face as he stared at her picture.

He was so worried about her debt.

Not this time. This time, they’re both going down.

I grabbed my daughter, stumbled out, and banged on his window. “John! Are you okay? The car’s on fire! Get out!”

He was trapped, bleeding, but all he cared about was wiping the blood off his phone screen – it was covering Sarah’s face.

I backed away with my daughter and slapped Sarah, who’d just gotten out of her car. “You monster! You crashed into us because you didn’t want to repay the $50,000! You’re a murderer!”

My blood splattered on her face. “You’re heartless! You’d kill for money!”

Sarah stumbled back, closer to our burning car.

She looked panicked, not the cool, composed beauty she was after the crash in my past life.

I pretended to collapse, sobbing. “Sarah, please help my husband! You don’t have to repay the money! Please!”

I saw John, who’d been resigned to dying in the car last time, struggling to get out now that I’d revealed Sarah’s debt. He wanted to defend her.

Sarah just stared at him, tears streaming down her face. No attempt to help.

I counted down. “3, 2, 1.”

BOOM!

John screamed as flames engulfed his legs. Sarah, caught in the blast, shrieked as glass shards sliced her face.

I screamed too, dragging myself towards John, playing the distraught wife.

This performance would be way more convincing than theirs. When the truth came out, everyone would be on my side.

I crawled, leaving a bloody trail, pulling my daughter. I pretended to faint before the potential second explosion. I could still hear Sarah cursing.

This time, John really fainted. No one to comfort her now.

The ambulance arrived. The paramedics said my daughter and I would be fine. I finally breathed easy.

In my past life, I hadn’t known Sarah was John’s first love. I’d just asked him to get our money back. He’d hated me for it.

When Sarah crashed into us, he’d turned the wheel on purpose, hoping to kill me and our daughter so I couldn’t pressure Sarah.

He deleted messages while the car burned. I pulled him out. He clung to me, ensuring we were both caught in the blast.

He’d refused to pay for our treatment, saying Sarah felt bad enough. He hadn’t asked me to save him.

He’d gone viral for calmly deleting messages, she for her heartbroken beauty. They had money, fame, and each other after I died, their tragic love story complete.

But the life he gave her was mine and my daughter’s.

This time, his life was his own to give. I would make them suffer, every single day.

I listened to John’s unconscious moans, a smile spreading across my face for the first time since my rebirth.

Chapter 2

The doctor bandaged my wounds. I stared blankly, clutching my daughter’s hand, the picture of trauma.

Of course I didn’t stay by John’s side.

I played dumb when the insurance company asked about the sudden swerve, claiming I didn’t know why he’d done it.

They only offered a measly $18,000. Nowhere near enough.

John was badly injured. Broken bones, burns, damaged hearing and sight. He needed extensive, expensive treatment. Without it, he was done.

The $50,000 we’d saved over seven years? Gone. “Lent” to Sarah. We were broke.

So, I marched to the plastic surgery clinic and found Sarah, terrified of scars, consulting about the best procedures.

“Sarah, John lent you all our money. If you don’t repay it, he’ll die. Please, save his life.”

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Call it emotional blackmail. I know you don’t want scars, but I love my husband. I can’t live without him. Please, give me the money.”

Her face twisted in disgust.

People in the waiting room stared, some filming. “Look at that! She can afford plastic surgery but not to save a man’s life.”

Sarah stormed off.

I sobbed dramatically, letting them film before I left.

Before that video even went online, the crash footage went viral.

Me, screaming, stumbling towards John, desperate to save him. People were touched. John was so lucky to have me.

They’d also heard me confronting Sarah about the money.

People tagged the police, demanding they investigate attempted murder. Sarah’s tearful act was now seen as fake and manipulative. No one was calling her beautiful now.

Tons of accounts shared the video. I found one titled “This man’s wife is a saint” and sent it to Sarah. “Kind strangers are offering to sue you for the money. Please, don’t let John die.”

John was finally moved to a regular room. I sent another message to Sarah right before he woke up.

He saw me and sighed, disappointed.

I feigned ignorance. “Honey, Sarah has a cut on her face. She’s getting plastic surgery. It’s expensive, so she might not be able to repay us right away. But I’ll find a way to save you, no matter what.”

John panicked. “Plastic surgery? Is it bad?”

“Serves her right,” I said, not giving him details. “Don’t worry, I just got a $10,000 bonus. I’ll deposit it for your treatment.”

“No,” he hesitated. “I know how bad it is. Treatment will just be a burden.”

I squeezed his hand. “Honey, you’re all that matters. Money comes and goes. Don’t ever say that again.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, holding my hand.

He didn’t see Sarah at the doorway, her face darkening before she turned and left.

I dialed my burner phone, set it to record, and hid it in the cabinet. “John, I’m on the phone. Shout if you need anything.”

His hearing was still impaired. He wouldn’t hear anything unless it was loud.

“I’ll go talk to the doctor,” I said, leaving the room.

As soon as I was out, Sarah’s voice filled the room through the phone.

Chapter 3

“John, are you okay?” Sarah’s voice trembled.

“I’m fine!” he said quickly. “You must be in so much pain. I’m so sorry.”

I listened to them cooing over each other.

“I swerved to protect you, Sarah,” John said. “I would rather die than see you hurt, but I still failed you.”

Sarah refused to let him see her face, saying she’d sell her house to pay for his treatment even if she became homeless.

John was moved. “Sarah, I have $10,000. Take it. Your face…”

She sobbed. “John, your wife works hard for that money. You already lent me $50,000 and mortgaged your house for me. You’ve done so much. I can’t take any more.”

I heard the smugness in her voice.

John didn’t care. “Sarah, I wasn’t there for you back then. I broke my promise and got married. This is the least I can do. I can’t see you suffer. Don’t worry about the IOU. I deleted it.”

I smiled. This recording was gold. I didn’t want John anymore, but I wanted my money, our money. They would pay.

I pretended not to know about the missing money and agreed to stop his treatment, then went down to the parking garage and cried.

I kept confronting Sarah, begging for the money, each encounter filmed and posted online. The videos gained traction thanks to the car crash publicity.

Public opinion was on my side. People offered to donate.

The police questioned John. He lied, defending Sarah, saying he’d swerved accidentally.

I let it go. Their lies would cost them dearly.

I pretended to be offline, not mentioning the mortgaged house yet.

I called John’s family and friends. “I’m thinking of selling our house to pay for his treatment. I don’t want to, it’s our home, but I’ll buy it back once Sarah repays us.”

The housing market was down. No one wanted to buy. They offered small loans.

I refused them all. “I just got a $10,000 bonus, but John’s stubborn. He won’t accept treatment unless we have the full amount. It’s either all or nothing. I can’t raise $60,000-70,000. Selling the house is the only way.”

I made them promise not to tell John.

I also contacted a popular real estate agent with a huge online following, asking him to help me sell quickly.

To John, I said nothing, just whispered, “Sarah got a small cut but chose the most expensive treatment. $2,000 per session! That money could have saved your hearing, maybe even your leg. I’m so useless.”

His leg was getting worse. Amputation was inevitable. He couldn’t even afford pain meds. “Just let me die,” he begged, sweating. “I can’t be a burden to you anymore.”

I shook my head. “You may not have asked for my help, but I’ll give it anyway.”

Every visitor, primed by my story, berated Sarah, sharing stories of her lavish spending while John suffered.

John, so in love he’d die for her, was now in agony while she lived comfortably. His love would soon turn to resentment.

Sarah stopped visiting, afraid of his family.

John grew more and more frustrated.

A few days later, he finally caught on. “Why is everyone blaming Sarah? Did you do this? You’re trying to kill her! She’s already suffered so much! You’re a wicked woman!”