Revenge on My Betrayers

As I inserted the key into the lock, I was still thinking about making my husband Chris Johns's favorite braised pork tonight. The password lock on the new house was set by us when we got married, with both our fingerprints registered, yet right now, the screen was glowing green with "Unlocked." The crystal chandelier in the living room was off; only the master bedroom leaked a warm yellow light. I stepped lightly over, and the scene through the door crack stabbed my eyes like an ice pick. Chris was shirtless, the tattoo on his back still damp with sweat. And my best friend Kennedy Moss's long hair was tangled around his arm, and she was wearing the silk nightgown Chris had given me for my birthday. "Lesly Irwin's working overtime today; she won't be back anytime soon." Kennedy's voice was breathy, her hand still tracing circles on Chris's chest. "You said last time you wanted to remove her name from the joint account. So when are you going to do it?" Chris chuckled softly, pinching her chin: "Why rush? When the Apocalyptic Cold Wave arrives, her tiny salary won't even cover supplies. By then, she'll be the one asking for a divorce." Apocalyptic Cold Wave. Those three words struck me like thunder, exploding the buried memories in my mind. In my past life, it was this very day—I worked late into the night, and when I came home, I saw this exact scene. They knelt before me, confessing their sins, saying it was just a moment of weakness, begging for my forgiveness. I believed them. Then the cold wave hit suddenly; the city lost water and electricity. They tricked me into going to the suburban shelter to get supplies, only to lock me outside. On a snowy night at minus forty degrees, wrapped in a thin coat, I watched their car drive away. I froze in the snowbank, my eyes fixed on the shelter's direction. The pain in my chest was sharper than the frostbite I suffered in my past life. I quietly slipped back to the living room, took out my phone, and opened the banking app. There's 800,000 dollars in the joint account, the money we planned to pay off the mortgage. My finger didn't stop; I transferred the money in three parts to my personal account. After being frozen to death in my previous life, I found out Chris had secretly opened this account long ago to stash his secret funds. After transferring the money, I opened the credit card app again. Three credit cards with a combined limit of 150,000 dollars. I maxed them out in one go, transferring all the money into the fresh produce delivery platform's account. A news notification popped up on my phone screen saying, "Apocalyptic Cold Wave Countdown: 24 Hours," the red numbers stabbing at my eyes. I don't have time to be sad. The pain from my past life taught me that only by surviving do I have the right to talk about anything else. I grabbed the suitcase by the door and first went to the hardware store downstairs in the neighborhood. "Sir, give me ten thick steel plates, preferably military-grade, plus fifty meters of thickened steel cable and twenty expansion bolts." I slammed my credit card on the counter, my voice steady. The shop assistant in the store was momentarily stunned, glanced at the news, then at me, didn't ask any more questions, and quickly had the staff prepare the items. Next, I went to the outdoor gear store. "I need two top-tier cold-weather suits that can withstand minus fifty degrees, plus three pairs of fleece-lined, anti-slip snow boots." I pointed at the sleeping bags on the top shelf. "Those military sleeping bags—the heated ones—I want five of them." The clerk packed quickly, and I added, "Get me ten more boxes of Frostbite Ointment, the best kind." In my previous life, it was because I didn't have Frostbite Ointment that my fingers and toes froze black. In the end, I could only watch helplessly as they died off. After finishing up the purchase, the delivery truck from the fresh food platform arrived. Fifty kilometers of rice, two hundred packs of compressed biscuits, one hundred boxes of mineral water, plus frozen meat and vegetables filled the trunk. I even specially bought a Military-Grade Water Purification System. In my previous life, I drank unsafe snow water and had diarrhea for half a month, nearly not making it through. By the time I got back to the safe house, it was already dark. This basement is something I secretly bought six months ago, thirty kilometers from the city. I used to store junk there, but now it's become my lifeline. I first nailed thick steel plates to the basement door, sealed the gaps with foam sealant, then reinforced the windows with steel cables, and even put burglar nets on the ventilation vents. Finally, I checked the generator and heater one last time to make sure the fuel was enough. Snow began drifting outside the window, and the wind whipped snowflakes against the glass. I leaned against the steel door, staring at the photo of Chris and Kennedy on my phone, my fingers lightly swiping the screen. Chris, Kennedy, what you owed me in my past life, this time I'll take it all back, piece by piece.