Love Melts as Snow Chapter 1

A tube of lipstick lay on the passenger seat of my husband Leo's car.

An unfamiliar shade of Lancôme L'Absolu Rouge.

In my past life, the day after this discovery marked the beginning of my transformation from a respectable, wealthy wife into a madwoman in the attic.

I installed a GPS tracker on Leo’s phone. I hired private investigators to follow him. I called the police to raid hotels, hoping to catch him in the act.

I stooped to every sordid, undignified trick in the book.

Finally, through my relentless efforts, on our seventh wedding anniversary, I caught him in bed with his secretary.

Our divorce battle became a public war. He dismantled my life with the precision of a corporate takeover, clinging to every penny of his fortune. I consulted every lawyer in the city and walked away with a settlement of just forty-eight dollars.

Shortly after the divorce, I was diagnosed with cancer.

When the pain was so intense I thought I was dying, I swallowed my pride and knelt before Leo. He stood by and let his secretary slap me three times, then refused to give me a single cent.

Penniless and broken, I froze to death on the doorstep of the home I had lived in for seven years.

So in this life, seeing the exact same lipstick in the exact same spot, I calmly picked it up and placed it in the glove compartment for him.

* * *

My simple action seemed to unnerve Leo. He suddenly felt the need to explain. "That lipstick belongs to Jenna."

"I took her to a business dinner last night," he said. "The silly girl thought she could land the contract by drinking the client under the table. She started downing glasses of wine the second she sat down. She got the deal, but she was completely wasted."

"I know you don't like other women in the passenger seat, but Jenna is the daughter of a dear family friend. He helped me out when I was just starting my company. I couldn't just leave her there."

He’d said the exact same thing in my last life.

Back then, the sight of the lipstick, combined with the fond, gentle way he spoke about his new secretary, had sent me into a blind rage. I’d unbuckled my seatbelt and screamed at him.

"Stop the car, Leo! You and this car are equally disgusting."

I don't remember the details of what happened next. I only remember him pulling over, spitting the word "psycho" at me, and speeding away, leaving me on the side of the road.

I walked for four hours in the cold winter drizzle, tears streaming down my face. My heels rubbed my feet raw until they bled. I ended up with a fever of 104 degrees.

And as I lay in bed, sick and miserable, Leo was on a plane with Jenna, heading overseas for a business trip. Photos and videos of him adjusting the strap of her slip dress, of her leaning in to kiss his cheek, became the top gossip on his company’s internal forum.

How stupid was I in my past life to think that hurting myself would ever make him care?

The irony was so bitter that a smirk unconsciously touched my lips.

The next second, Leo slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt in the emergency lane. He turned to me, his voice sharp. "How many times do I have to tell you? Jenna is the daughter of my father's friend. I'm just looking out for her."

"There is absolutely nothing going on between us. Can you please stop being so unreasonable..."

Seeing the sudden anger flash across his face, a familiar bitterness welled up in my chest. But this time, it wasn't for him. It was for the woman I used to be.

In my last life, I had pancreatic cancer, one of the most painful forms of the disease. Every day was a blur of nurses jabbing long needles into my skin, leaving me a sobbing mess. Or I’d be curled on the floor, clutching my stomach, begging for a quick death. When I was at my most desperate, I’d taken a fruit knife and stabbed at my own emaciated body, just hoping for a single night of uninterrupted sleep.

Yet even then, I could never bring myself to sell our wedding ring for another dose of painkillers.

When the doctor told me I had a month to live, I dragged my skeletal frame out of the hospital to find Leo, intending to ask him to remarry me. After all, when my parents died, he had sworn he would take care of me for the rest of my life.

But when I finally reached the house we had shared for seven years, I had to kneel and beg the security guard just to call him for me.

Leo heard my voice, said my name, and then replied with chilling calm, "Vera, we're divorced. That means we have no relationship anymore. Whatever happens to you, don't contact me again."

Then he hung up.

I collapsed in the backyard of the villa we once called home. In the final moments before my life faded away, I saw him through the window. He was holding Jenna, his secretary, in his arms. In the home I had so carefully decorated, they were using the dishes I had bought, drinking from the wine glasses I had chosen, sharing a romantic dinner, kissing intimately.

The pain in my chest was a physical weight, stealing my breath. Shoving the memory away, I calmly took an eye mask from my purse and slipped it on.

"I believe you. There's nothing going on between you and Jenna."

"Now, can we please get moving?"

Leo’s face was a canvas of shock, but I simply pulled the mask down, shutting out the world.