All In on Love, All Out of Luck

The day before the spacecraft launch, I am anonymously reported for concealing a mental illness and lose my qualification to board.

After being confined in a psychiatric hospital for three years, my husband, Simon Bergman, who is now a decorated figure in the aerospace field, personally brings me home.

"I had no choice but to send you there. I even applied to be demoted just to bring you back. Let's just live our lives well from now on," Simon says.

Burdened by guilt for affecting his career, I spend the rest of my life carefully taking care of him and busying myself in the kitchen as a dutiful wife.

But before I die, my daughter finds the letter accusing me of having a mental condition—it is written in my husband's own hand.

She also discovers decades of correspondence between him and a deceased war buddy's widow named Charmaine Marlowe.

In those letters, he writes that to fulfill his buddy's dying wish to take care of Charmaine, he fabricates a false mental illness record and inserts it into my astronaut application. As a result, I was sent to the psychiatric hospital, and my position was taken by her.

The glass shatters, and the sharp fragments pierce me, like they are stabbing into my heart.

I was supposed to be the one to go to space. But my husband sacrificed my chance so that another woman could have it!

I die in despair.

When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day of the astronaut selection for the manned spacecraft launch.

This time, when Simon offers to help submit my application, I refuse to let him.

My husband, Simon Bergman, paused, clutching the documents tightly. "Honey, I told you—rest well these few days. I'll handle errands like this for you."

I clenched my fists so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and a sharp ache hit me.

I had always trusted him completely. In my past life, he had used me without my knowledge, submitting my documents with forged proofs that could have ruined me. I was then locked away in a psychiatric hospital for three dark, endless years, and my life had veered onto a completely different path.

I refused to go through that again. I tried to stay calm, but my hands shook uncontrollably as I reached for the documents. "I just remembered I didn't finish filling out one section. I'll complete it and submit it myself," I said.

Simon looked anxious as he took the papers back. "Which part isn't finished? I can help."

I locked the papers in the cabinet, forcing a faint smile. "No need. I can handle it myself. Isn't the soup still on the stove? You should check on that."

Simon reluctantly left the room, and I immediately pulled the application back out. As expected, a falsified mental health record was tucked inside.

I felt like I had fallen into an icy pit. It was all true.

Simon returned with the soup.