The days passed in a quiet rhythm, each one blurring softly into the next.
The scent of antiseptic still lingered in the air, but Aveline had grown used to it — the faint hum of hospital machines, the rhythmic footsteps of nurses in white, and the gentle warmth that seeped through the curtains every morning when sunlight found its way into her room. It was calm, almost serene, and for the first time in a long while, her world wasn't spinning in chaos.
She would sit by the window every morning, wrapped in the thin white blanket, her gaze fixed on the city skyline. Cars glided like distant memories below, and she would find herself tracing their paths with her eyes, wondering how many people down there were living the same lives they had lived before — unaware that time could break, twist, and start again.
Her parents visited every day.
Her mother always came first — gentle, affectionate, a little overbearing in her care. She would bring homemade soup in a thermos, scolding the nurses softly when she thought Aveline's portions were too small. Her father arrived later in the afternoons, his expression always calm but with a shadow in his eyes — a shadow that had once been despair in her past life.
Now, it was only worry.
And that small difference — that tiny shift in his expression — reminded her that maybe this time, things truly could be different.
---
"Are you feeling better today, sweetheart?" her mother asked one morning, setting a tray of food on the table beside her bed. "You look stronger than yesterday."
Aveline smiled faintly, nodding. "A little. I can move without trembling now."
"That's good." Her mother sat beside her, smoothing a hand over her hair like she used to when Aveline was a child. "You frightened us all, Aveline. I don't think I could've—"
Her voice broke for a second, but she quickly blinked it away, forcing a smile. "But that's over now. You're here. You're safe."
Safe.
The word echoed in Aveline's mind.
In her past life, she had never been safe — not in her marriage, not in her own home, not even within her thoughts. Every corner of her life had been invaded by deceit and manipulation, and she had been too blind to see it.
Now, this warmth — this simple, loving presence — felt like something rare and fragile.
She reached for her mother's hand and held it. "I'm sorry for making you worry. I… wasn't thinking clearly before."
Her mother squeezed her hand gently. "You were hurting. No one blames you for that."
Aveline smiled faintly, hiding the swirl of emotions that rose in her chest. If only her mother knew — the real pain hadn't even started in this life yet. But this time, she wouldn't let it reach her family. She had sworn to protect them, no matter what it took.
---
When her father came later that day, he stood at the doorway for a long moment before speaking. "You're healing well," he said quietly, his deep voice steady. "I spoke to the doctor. He said you might be discharged soon."
Aveline nodded. "Maybe in two or three days."
Her father sat beside her bed, his expression thoughtful. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, his tie slightly loose — a sign that he had come straight from work. She could see the exhaustion around his eyes, but also relief.
For a moment, she just looked at him — memorizing every detail, every faint wrinkle at the edge of his eyes, every breath he took.
In her past life, she had watched him crumble under the weight of shame and loss, believing his daughter had ruined the family name.
Not this time.
Not again.
"How's the company?" she asked softly, as if it were a casual question.
Her father blinked, slightly surprised. "Stable," he replied after a pause. "Your brothers and Iris are managing things. You don't need to worry about that now."
Aveline lowered her gaze, hiding the faint flicker in her eyes. In her past life, this was around the time the company had first started to fall — the first thread that Damian and Iris had quietly tugged loose from behind the scenes. But if things were "stable," then maybe… they haven'tstart excuting their plans. Or her father didn't want to worry her.
Something she hadn't done, yet had somehow shifted.
She forced a small smile. "That's good. I'll help out once I'm fully recovered."
Her father chuckled quietly. "Focus on healing first. The rest can wait."
---
Days continued like that — simple, uneventful, but peaceful.
Aveline learned to walk down the corridor with slow, careful steps. The nurses greeted her with soft smiles. Her mother insisted on combing her hair every morning, as if she were still a child. Her father brought fresh flowers to replace the wilting ones on her bedside table.
It was domestic, tender, and painfully human — all the little moments she had once overlooked.
At night, when everyone left and the room was quiet again, she would sit by the window, staring at her reflection in the glass. Her face looked the same, yet different — calmer, wiser, her eyes darker with resolve.
Sometimes she would press a hand to her chest and whisper, "It's real, isn't it?"
Because even now, there were moments when it felt like she was still dreaming — like she had woken inside a story that didn't follow its own script.
---
On the fourth morning, her doctor came in with a smile. "Miss Aveline, good news. You're ready to be discharged."
Her mother clapped her hands softly. "Finally! You've been here too long. Home will do you good."
Home.
Aveline nodded, though a faint unease fluttered in her chest. She wasn't sure where "home" would be this time — her parents' house or Lucian's mansion.
In her past life, it had been the mansion.
Her parents had argued that day — her mother insisting she shouldn't go back, her father saying duty came first. Aveline had gone home to Lucian, angry and broken, and that had been the beginning of everything that fell apart.
So why did her heart feel uncertain now?
---
When the nurse wheeled in her discharge papers, her hands trembled slightly as she signed them. Her mother was chatting happily with one of the staff, already making plans for her to rest and recover properly at home.
At home.
Something about the way she said it made Aveline's pulse quicken. But she didn't ask — not yet.
Her father came to pick them up in his black sedan. The air outside smelled fresh, touched with sunlight and city breeze. For a moment, Aveline closed her eyes and let it wash over her.
The world felt new — familiar yet slightly out of place, as though the timeline had taken a small step sideways.
She sat quietly in the back seat as the car began to move. Her mother hummed softly beside her, talking about meals, about rest, about not worrying about anything for now.
Aveline listened, smiled faintly, and looked out the window.
The streets passed in slow rhythm — glass towers, open intersections, familiar turns. But then… a flicker of confusion crossed her face.
This wasn't the route to Lucian's mansion.
Her brows knit together slightly. "Mom," she said softly, "this isn't—"
Her mother turned to her, smiling brightly. "We're going home, dear. To your room. To us."
Aveline froze. "To… our house?"
"Of course," her mother said cheerfully. "Lucian signed the divorce papers yesterday. You're free, Aveline. Isn't that what you wanted?"
The words landed like a quiet explosion inside her chest.
Lucian… divorced her?
Her breath caught — a faint, trembling pause that her mother didn't notice. The car continued to move forward, sunlight flashing across her face in passing stripes, her reflection flickering on the window glass.
In her past life… this had never happened.
At this time, she had been dragged back to Lucian's mansion. There had been no divorce. No freedom. No change in fate. So why now?
The realization made her heart race. The world outside suddenly felt thinner, almost fragile — like a rewritten story she didn't recognize anymore.
She forced herself to stay calm, her voice steady. "Mom… can we go to Lucian's mansion instead? There's something I need to talk to him about."
Her mother blinked, surprised. "Aveline, why would you—"
"Please," Aveline said gently, her tone composed but her eyes filled with quiet intensity. "Just this once."
Her mother hesitated, glancing toward her husband.
He caught Aveline's gaze through the rearview mirror — the same calm, steady eyes that once carried disappointment in another life. Now, they held only concern.
"Let her," he said after a moment, his voice low. "If that's what she wants."
Aveline exhaled softly, turning her eyes back to the road ahead. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her — the woman who had died once and returned not just to live again, but to change the course of everything.
Whatever had shifted in this timeline, she would face it.
And she would face him.