Taking Out the Trash: Goodbye to You

I've loved Jonathan Pickle for half my life. I used my family's resources to help him attain success. However, in the third year of our marriage, he brought his mistress home to stomp all over my pride. That wasn't the worst of it—he even destroyed my family.

…

I open my eyes to see Jonathan in his university days. Unexpectedly, I'm not the only person who's been given a second chance at life.

A donation box was placed before me, and my hand was outstretched as I made to drop a bank card inside.

One of the people watching me mocked, "My, my! Look at you, Thalia Stoneridge. Everyone else donated cash, but you're putting a bank card inside. Don't think Jonathan will get together with you just because you're donating more than the others!"

"Exactly! Jon's not interested in your stupid money!" someone else said.

I returned to my senses and looked at my bank card. Then, I retracted my hand and put the card back in my pocket. "Well, alright. Since you guys think my money is stupid, I won't donate anything. I don't want to dirty everything else inside the box."

The people who'd mocked me were Jonathan Pickle's friends. Their expressions stiffened at my words. It seemed they hadn't expected me to change my mind about the donation.

Jonathan came from a poor family, and his mother, Connie Johnson, was chronically ill. Everyone in school knew about his family situation. So, the teachers had organized a donation to help him collect some funds.

In my past life, I was nothing but a rich airhead. I'd saved 100,000 dollars in two years and donated it all to Jonathan. My bank card had stood out among the notes in the donation box.

When word got out about how much I'd donated, some people said I was a hopeless romantic, and some said I'd lost my mind because of Jonathan. Some people were also envious of me for being so generous. Jonathan's friends were the only ones who'd insulted me, saying that I was using money to insult him.

If so, I wouldn't make the same mistake this time. I wouldn't "insult" him anymore.

However, as I turned to leave, a familiar voice rang out, "This is supposed to be a charity drive. How can you just not do anything?"

It was Henrietta Quill!

In my past life, she'd been one of the causes of my death. She'd shamelessly shown up at my house to brag about being pregnant.

When I saw her again, hatred surged in me. Although her face was cute and innocent, her heart was jet-black. She and Jonathan were on good terms, perhaps because they had similar family backgrounds.

I suppressed my anger and said, "It's up to me whether I want to make any donations. Besides, these people told me not to donate because my money is stupid. Why are you getting upset when I'm just doing as told?"

Henrietta's face turned red with