Not My Problem Anymore

My father-in-law tossed a credit card across the table and looked down at me, demanding that I divorce his daughter.

In my past life, I had refused with everything I had. But this time, I picked up the pen and signed the divorce papers without a second thought.

Because right then, I remembered what had happened last time.

In that life, I found my wife after she had lost her memory. To support her, I worked myself to the bone, delivering 200 food orders a day. But when her memories came back, she realized she was actually the daughter of the wealthy Harretts.

She saw our marriage as a stain on her perfect life. To get rid of me, she pretended to have amnesia again.

She said, "Since you saved me once, I'll give you some money. But after this, don't ever show up in front of me again."

I refused. I stayed by her side, enduring her insults and beatings. But in the end, she ordered our son to set the fire that killed me, just so she could marry her first love.

Now that I had been given another chance, I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

My father-in-law, Lionel Harrett, looked at me with disgust and sneered, "You're just a delivery guy. Now that you've suddenly got a fortune big enough to last several lifetimes, it must feel like heaven, huh? No wonder you clung to Rhea for so long, pretending to be head over heels for her every single day."

I almost laughed.

Rhea Harrett was the one who deserved an award for her performance in my last life.

When it poured, she would show up to pick me up from work. When our tiny apartment leaked, she would squeeze into the corner of the bed with our baby, promising that someday we'd make enough money to live a better life.

But the same woman later claimed she'd lost her memory again, locked me in the basement, and fed me spoiled food, all so she could marry her first love, Glen Newton.

A chill ran down my spine as I snapped back to the present. I took a slow sip of coffee and smiled.

"Mr. Harrett," I said lightly, "once I leave the country, don't forget to wipe away every trace of me, the so-called gold-digger, alright?"

Lionel gave a cold snort, grabbed the divorce papers, and stormed off.

At first, I had actually felt guilty toward Rhea. I thought she had crashed her car and lost her memory because she was trying to avoid hitting me on my scooter.

Back then, she couldn't stand any loud noise. It would trigger her headaches.

So, I worked two jobs, delivering food by day and washing dishes at a diner by night. Every cent went to her medical bills.

Each night, I would come home aching and exhausted, and she would look at me with guilt in her eyes, promising that someday she would make it