"Alice's in the next room. Don't look. Her death was horrific," he said.
Looking at myself in the clinic mirror, I realized I had no gray hair and my skin was youthful.
There were no bruises on my body. I took a deep breath, realizing I had been reborn.
I glanced at my boyfriend and smiled with my head down.
In my previous life, I had rushed here after hearing about Alice's accident.
I had been in shock, unaware of the absurdity.
Seeing Alice lying under the white sheet, I couldn't stop trembling.
I had held her death certificate with deep regret.
I had seen her leave safely in that car.
Yet when she had an accident, my boyfriend was the first one to find out.
If I had taken her home myself, maybe she wouldn't have died so young.
In that tiny clinic, I cried with my boyfriend until I passed out.
When I woke, he told me Alice had been taken back to her hometown and buried in her family's grave.
I had stared at the place we once shared, unable to eat or drink for days.
A rural woman arrived with her mentally challenged son.
She took out a contract, claiming her son was engaged to me.
Even the bridal gift had been paid.