Right up to my deathbed, our son, Albert Holt, would still earnestly plead, “Mom, just divorce Dad. You’re inferior to Aunt Vivian in every way. Dad has suffered by being with you all these years, so let him go.”
I lay in the hospital bed, looking at my indifferent husband beside me. He said nothing, and that deathly silence confirmed his agreement with those thoughts.
I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, then slowly released it. No! I would not repeat the same mistakes in this lifetime.
I picked up the pen and slowly wrote two words in the applicant column: Vivian Hayes.
Since Sebastian loved Vivian so much, he should have it his way.
I handed the completed application to the clerk, took the marriage certificate, and left the city clerk’s office. I felt no sadness—instead, there was an indescribable sense of liberation.
In my previous life, Vivian and I were adopted by the Holt family after our parents died in the line of duty. Vivian had a silver tongue and knew exactly how to charm people, winning over Sebastian’s parents so completely that they treated her better than their own daughter.
Sebastian’s mother, Penelope Kane, even harbored early hopes of having Vivian marry Sebastian.
However, with just one simple statement from Vivian: “I don’t want to compete with my sister,” she managed to make Sebastian willingly choose me instead.
