About
In a world where love has become a distant memory, Ava is determined to rewrite her fate. Reborn as the wife of the factory director, she finds herself trapped in a web of favoritism and betrayal, with her husband, Justin, caught between loyalty to his late brother's family and his own flesh and blood. As the winter chill deepens, tensions rise within the household, especially when it comes to caring for her ailing son, Carter.
When Brooklyn, Justin's widowed sister-in-law, moves in with her son, the delicate balance of Ava's life begins to unravel. With every act of kindness shown to Brooklyn’s child, Ava’s heart sinks deeper into the shadows of her past—a past where love was conditional, and sacrifices were made in vain. As she fights for her son’s life, the stakes grow higher. Will she be able to extract the support she needs from a husband who seems more enamored with his sister-in-law than with his own family?
In a world where survival takes precedence over affection, Ava must navigate a treacherous landscape of jealousy, heartbreak, and the quest for redemption. Will she find the strength to secure a future for Carter, or will the ghosts of her past drag her back into despair?
Reborn The Factory Director's Wife Wants a DivorceChapter 1 The Coldest Winter
For miles around, everyone knew me as the epitome of a virtuous wife. Capable, accommodating, endlessly patient.
When Justin Farley's widowed sister-in-law, Brooklyn Simmons, brought her son to stay with us, her gaze lingered greedily on the master bedroom.
"This room is so spacious, so bright," she murmured. "If we could stay here, perhaps Tommy could forget the pain of losing his father, just for a little while..."
Justin hesitated, conflict flickering in his eyes. I didn't wait for him to choose. I simply smiled, gathered my bedding, and moved toward the door.
"It's fine. I'll squeeze in with my son."
The heaviest snow of the year fell today. Justin took the factory vehicle to pick up our son, Carter, from school.
But when Brooklyn's son started wailing about the cold, the car suddenly didn't have enough room. Only two passenger seats.
My son didn't argue. He smiled—heartbreakingly understanding for a child—and shouldered his backpack, stepping into the white drifts.
"It's okay, Dad. I can walk home."