She Named My First

In my previous life, during my birthday party, my wife Ruby’s so‑called best friend, Hayden, walked up to me with a glass of wine and a smirk.

“Ruby had a little too much to drink last night,” he said. “I helped her shower. Hope you do not mind.”

I lost my temper on the spot, and I demanded a divorce.

I left with nothing because I wanted to get away from the two of them as quickly as possible.

In the end, I died alone in a rented apartment. No one came to see me, not even once.

After my death, Ruby’s company went public without any trouble. Her wedding with Hayden became the talk of the city.

Everyone called them a perfect match. When they mentioned me, there was only ever one line: "That man just had bad luck. He was never meant for anything better."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my birthday party.

Hayden walked up to me once more and repeated the exact same words.

This time, I did not get angry. I smiled.

I reached for Yara, my closest friend, who had come with me, and slipped my arm through hers in an intimate gesture.

Under Ruby and Hayden's stunned gazes, Yara blinked innocently at Ruby, whose face had gone pale.

"Ruby, don't be jealous. Jeff and I grew up together."

She paused just long enough, then added with a faint smile,

"After all, I was the one who taught him his first time."

The entire hall fell into dead silence.

Ruby Wheeler’s face shifted from ashen pale to a dark, blotchy purple, then to a black so deep it looked as if ink might drip from it at any moment.

Inside me, ten years of love collapsed in an instant.

Her fingers tightened around the wine glass until her knuckles turned white, veins rising sharply along the back of her hand. In that moment, whatever restraint she had left snapped.

Hayden Gibson’s smug expression froze. His face flickered between red and white as Yara Morris’s careless words crushed what little pride he had left.

Around us, the guests’ whispers buzzed like a swarm of flies.

I looped my arm through Yara’s, a faint smile resting on my lips.

“Ruby, happy birthday.” I raised my glass toward her from across the room, then tipped my head back and drained it in one motion.

Ruby did not move. Her gaze cut like a blade, sharp enough to tear me apart.

I set the glass down and turned to leave with Yara.

“Jeff!”

Her voice forced its way out through clenched teeth, burning with anger.

I did not stop.

A sudden, powerful grip seized my arm. Ruby yanked me back so hard that pain shot through my wrist.

“Are you done making a scene?”

She lowered her voice, yet every word carried a biting chill.

I looked at her. This was the face I had loved for ten years, so familiar it felt