Chapter 1The Heart He Gave Me

In the retirement home, a group of us sat in a circle, reminiscing about the loves that had carved themselves into our memories.

When it was my turn, I spoke calmly:

"When I was twenty-five, my husband gave me his heart."

The room fell silent. No one spoke.

Even after forty years, thinking of him brought that familiar, cramping pain to my chest.

I pushed myself up, ready to retire to my room, when a newcomer, an old woman who had just arrived, suddenly spoke up:

"What a coincidence. The thing I can't forget is the first year I was with him. I told him I wanted a title, a commitment."

"After hearing that, he made his wife have a 'sudden heart attack,' pretended to give her his heart, and faked his own death to escape."

"His wife remained a widow for him her whole life, while we grew old together, surrounded by children and grandchildren."

As she spoke, she stared straight at me.

The malice in her eyes was unmistakable.

Only then did I recognize her. She was my husband's secretary from forty years ago, Lily.

* * *

The sheer shock made me faint.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Ryan dressed as Santa Claus.

He was handing me a gift:

"Merry Christmas, Jane! Open it, see if you like it."

The scene was too familiar.

In my past life, after I opened that gift with joy, the contents triggered a heart attack.

When I woke up, I received the devastating news of his death.

Now, looking at his face so close to mine—a face worn down by forty years of longing in my memory, but now vivid and bright—

I heard Lily's words echoing in my mind before I fainted.

Triggered heart attack... faked death...

My hand paused in mid-air.

Finally, under his expectant gaze, it landed on the ribbon-tied box.

Slowly, I lifted the lid.

The object, exactly as I remembered, lay quietly on the velvet lining.

Almost instantly, that familiar cramping pain swept through my heart.

My vision began to darken, Ryan's panicked face swaying before my eyes...

I woke up in the hospital again, surrounded by the smell of disinfectant and low sobbing.

My mother-in-law held my hand, her voice choked with tears:

"Jane, you must hold on... Ryan... he left his heart for you. He wanted you to live well..."

Everything was exactly the same as my previous life.

Except this time, I didn't shed a single tear. My face held almost no expression.

Relatives and friends gathered around the bed. Their looks of sympathy gradually turned into confusion, and finally, silent accusation.

How can you not cry?

How can you be so calm?

He gave his life for you!

I ignored everyone's attempts to stop me and rushed home.

I searched frantically.

Drawers, closets, old books, junk boxes...

Finally, on his old computer, I found a purchase record.

Behind the record was an unfamiliar delivery address.

I followed the address.

It was a quiet neighborhood, the house looking cozy and comfortable.

I didn't see anyone, but a neighbor coming out to dump trash eyed me and chatted casually:

"Looking for the young couple in 302? They have such a good relationship."

"I remember once when it rained, he was afraid his wife would slip, so he took off work two hours early just to lay non-slip mats from the building entrance to the garage."

"Usually when he buys groceries, he remembers to bring back a small bunch of daisies, her favorite..."

I listened quietly, absorbing every word.

Non-slip mats on rainy days.

Favorite flowers.

Ryan did these for me too.

During the rainy season after my heart condition diagnosis, he silently did the same thing.

He always remembered to bring a bunch of lilies, my favorite.

It turned out those details I thought were unique to me weren't exclusive.

They could be copied and pasted into another life, becoming proof of another woman being deeply loved.

I sat back in my car, closed the door, and the world fell silent.

The steering wheel was cold. I gripped it, not knowing where to go or what to believe.

Forty years of nostalgia, forty years of heartache—what were they built on?

Which part was true emotion, and which part was acting?

My phone screen lit up abruptly with a notification.

It was from a contact I didn't remember adding, posting a new status.

The picture was a casual shot of a street view, tagged in a distant coastal town in Florida.

The text was simple:

[New home settled. She likes the ocean.]

It just so happened to be the place Ryan and Lily moved to.

In my past life, I had this contact too.

He didn't post often, but every share was a mundane, warm moment between a husband and wife:

Grocery shopping for her favorite ingredients, curling up at home to watch old movies on rainy days, gardening with her on the balcony...

Every line was filled with the smoke and fire of ordinary life, and cherished care.

I didn't know who he was, but reading between the lines, I thought he must be a very good husband.

I even thought, if my Ryan were still here, he would probably be like this.

So, I never could bring myself to delete this stranger's account. Occasionally, I would even like a post.

As if by doing so, I could borrow a little bit of illusory warmth from someone else's happiness to comfort my own boundless desolation.

I just never expected.

That was him.

Ryan.

He was loving another woman in the way I had longed for.