Reborn on Our Anniversary

A violent crash pierced the night, and the shrill sound of twisted metal exploded in my ears. I felt my body fly like a kite with a broken string, slamming heavily to the ground as consciousness quickly sank into darkness. The last thing I saw was the cold profile of my husband, Norman Shawn, sitting in the passenger seat, and the woman on the driver's seat with a bright smile—Nancy Scott. Today was our 10th wedding anniversary. My name is Rachel Lincoln, and I died at the hands of the man I loved for 12 whole years. When I opened my eyes again, the dazzling sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, warming my face in a way that felt unreal. I sat up abruptly, glancing around the familiar bedroom with our long-defunct wedding photo hanging on the wall. The electronic clock by the bed clearly displayed the date—it was the morning of my 10th wedding anniversary. I had been reborn. My heart raced not with joy, but with overwhelming hatred and sorrow. In my previous life, on this very day, I obediently followed Norman's arrangement to go to the hospital for a prenatal checkup. I thought this child could save our precarious marriage, but little did I know it was just a well-orchestrated scam by Nancy. The door opened. Norman, dressed in a high-end custom suit, stood tall and straight, but his face held no warmth. "The driver is waiting downstairs. Go to the hospital and get the prenatal check done," he said in a flat tone, as if instructing something trivial. I looked at him—the man I had once poured all my love into—and felt nothing but strangeness. In my previous life, I would have nodded obediently and cautiously asked if he wanted to come along. But now, I just stared at him coldly and said word by word: "I'm not going for the prenatal check." Norman frowned, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes: "Rachel, don't be unreasonable. This child must be kept." "This is my child. What I do with it has nothing to do with you," I said, throwing off the quilt and getting out of bed straight away. He clearly hadn't expected such resistance from me. He froze for a moment, then his tone sharpened: "Rachel, you'd better know your place. You're the young mistress of the Shawn family, and this child is the Shawn heir." "Young mistress of the Shawn family?" I laughed, so hard that tears almost came to my eyes. "Norman, do you think I still care about this title?" His face darkened, filled with disdain: "What trick are you playing now? Threatening me with divorce?" "You'll find out soon enough," I said, turning away from him and walking into the dressing room. I didn't pack those expensive clothes and jewelry, only grabbing a few of my own daily outfits and stuffing them into a small suitcase. The first thing I needed to do was abort this child. This life, conceived in a loveless marriage, didn't deserve to come into this world and suffer the pain I once endured. When I went downstairs, the driver was already waiting at the door. Seeing me carrying a suitcase, he stepped forward respectfully: "Young mistress, I'll drive you to the hospital." "No need," I said, walking past him firmly. "Go back. I'll go alone." The driver froze and looked towards Norman in the living room. Norman hurried out, grabbing my wrist with such force that it felt like he was going to crush my bones: "Rachel, where on earth are you going?" I wrenched my hand free, leaving a red mark on my wrist: "Norman, from today on, my business is none of your concern." With that, I walked out of the Shawn mansion without looking back and hailed a taxi. Through the car window, I saw Norman standing at the door, his face as dark as thunder. I felt no nostalgia at all, only a sense of relief. The taxi stopped in front of a private hospital. I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked in. I didn't tell anyone. I registered alone and underwent the pre-operative examination.