Chapter 4: Sharon’s Chance

Linda was leaning on the bed. When she saw me come in, she stood up nervously. She smoothed her skirt, trying to look casual, but her hands trembled. It was the same hopeful, fragile look from all those years ago.

Her words echo in my mind: the same mixture of desperation and sweetness that caught me off guard.

"Mike, I know I’m not worthy of you, bringing two kids. Please take pity on me, just let my kids have enough to eat. I won’t even keep this one in my belly."

She looked so small, tears streaming down her cheeks, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. In that moment, I wanted to protect her from the world, even if it cost me everything.

I saw her then and now—two faces, one woman. The passage of time faded, and all the pain returned in a rush.

"Mike, you’re back from work?" Her voice was soft, hopeful. I nodded, already steeling myself for the conversation I knew was coming.

Knowing what she was about to say, I decided I didn’t want that ending again. To cut off her hopes completely, I spoke before she could.

I straightened my back, letting the words spill out before she could start her act. This time, I wouldn’t let my heart lead me astray.

"Linda, don’t come again. I’m a bachelor—this will ruin your reputation."

I kept my tone even, gentle but firm. In a town like ours, rumors spread faster than wildfire. I figured the best thing for both of us was a clean break.

"Mike, did I do something wrong?" Linda’s eyes filled with tears, about to fall. If I hadn’t lived through all this once before, I might have been moved again.

I felt a pang, but I held steady. I knew her tricks now—the way she used vulnerability as a shield and a weapon.

"You haven’t done anything wrong. But a man and a woman alone—people talk, you know?"

I tried to reason with her, hoping she’d see it was for the best. Reputation was everything in our town. Even a hint of scandal could ruin someone for good.

But this Linda rushed up and hugged me: "I don’t care, Mike! I know I’m not worthy of you, bringing two kids. Please pity me, just give my kids a mouthful to eat. I won’t even keep this one in my belly."

Her arms wrapped around me, her voice cracking with emotion. She repeated the same lines, but they rang hollow this time. I gently pulled away, refusing to be drawn in.

Still the same lines as my past life, but I was no longer the same man.

I’d learned my lesson. Pity is a poor foundation for love, and I wasn’t going to build my life on it again.

I dodged her belly and broke free: "Whether you keep the child or not has nothing to do with me. I have my own life."

The words felt harsh, but I meant them. I needed to draw a line, to take back my own future.

"I don’t believe it! I know you like me. I’ve always known..."

She clung to hope, desperation painting her face. I saw through it now—the way she twisted affection into obligation.

What was this? When had I ever liked her?

I shook my head, confusion mixing with anger. When did pity become love? When did duty become a shackle?

"I already have someone I want to marry."

This shocked Linda, Grandma Louise at the door, and even Sharon Chen, who had come to return a spatula. I saw Sharon’s eyes widen, Grandma Louise’s jaw drop. The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.

Sharon had been forced to divorce after three years of marriage without children. The town whispered about her—said she was cursed, unlucky, barren. She kept to herself, her dignity intact, never asking for sympathy.

Her family thought the divorce was shameful, so they gave her a small house and let her be. They hoped distance would quiet the gossip, but folks always find something to talk about. Sharon kept her head high, working odd jobs and reading late into the night.

In my past life, someone had mentioned her to me. What did I say then? "You’ve got some nerve. I’m a bachelor, and you’re recommending a divorced woman?"

The words haunt me now—so judgmental, so ignorant. I missed my chance then, but not this time.

In the end, I married a divorced woman with two kids. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Life has a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

She never married again, spent her life studying at home, and later became a kindergarten teacher. Sharon found her calling, pouring her kindness into generations of kids. I admired her from afar, wishing things had been different.

When I was shivering in the woodshed, she brought me food and asked if I regretted it. She stood in the cold, arms crossed, her eyes steady on mine. “Do you regret it, Mike?” she asked, holding out a steaming bowl of soup.

"You didn’t want me then. Looks like your taste wasn’t so good after all."

She smiled sadly, her words gentle but cutting. I wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in my throat.

Before I could reply, Linda arrived, cursing Sharon viciously, calling her a homewrecker—her words as nasty as could be. Linda’s voice echoed off the shed walls, a storm of insults and accusations. Sharon held her ground, dignity intact, but I could see the hurt in her eyes.

I never saw her again before I died. That regret weighed on me heavier than any other mistake. If I had another chance, I swore I’d do things differently.

Now that Heaven had given me another chance to meet her, I had to cherish it. I vowed right then not to let fear or pride keep me from the happiness I deserved.

"Who is it? Tell me, who is it?" Linda shook me almost madly, as if I’d committed some great sin. Her grip was fierce, her voice cracking with anger. I stood firm, refusing to let her guilt me into submission.

In the end, Grandma Louise broke up the scene. She stepped in, voice like a whip. “That’s enough, Linda. This isn’t your business anymore.” Her authority was unquestioned—everyone listened when Grandma Louise spoke.

"What’s all this fuss? He’s not your man." Her words were sharp, final. Linda’s face crumpled, and she bolted from the room, shame and fury burning in her eyes.

The door slammed, leaving behind only the echo of her sobs. For once, the house felt peaceful again.

Grandma Louise watched her go and sighed, "That girl is pretty, but she’s full of tricks. How can she compare to Sharon? Sharon is honest."

She turned to me, her eyes softening. “You want a good woman, Mike? Look for honesty first. Looks fade, but character sticks.”

Sharon looked at me, a trace of curiosity and hope in her eyes. There was a flicker of something—a question, maybe even a chance. My heart beat faster.

Grandma Louise looked at me, then at Sharon. "This could work." She nodded, as if sealing the deal right then and there.

Sharon set down the spatula and left. She moved quietly, but I noticed her cheeks were flushed. I watched her go, feeling hope bloom in my chest.

I stared after her, dazed. Was this what a new beginning felt like? I almost didn’t recognize it.

"What, are you moved?" Grandma Louise winked, a sly grin on her face. “Don’t let your chance slip by, Mike.”

"Grandma, could you ask her for me? See if she’s willing?" My voice was soft, almost embarrassed. I was a grown man, but in that moment, I felt like a shy teenager.

The old lady smiled, then looked at Sharon. She gave me a thumbs-up, her approval clear. For the first time in years, I felt genuinely excited for what might come next.

"Grandma, I’m willing too." Sharon’s voice was quiet but sure, her eyes shining. The old house seemed to brighten with her words.

"Good, good! I’m over eighty and this is my first time matchmaking. You two hurry up and get married, have a fat baby." Grandma Louise laughed, clapping her hands. She was more excited than either of us, already talking about grandchildren and big family dinners.

"Actually, I don’t care if we have children." I glanced at Sharon, not wanting to pressure her. Her past had been marked by disappointment, and I didn’t want to be another source of pain.

Her eyes softened, gratitude flickering across her face. I hoped she knew I meant it—I cared more about building a life together than starting a family the old-fashioned way.

In my past life, Linda was once pregnant with my child. The memory surfaced unbidden, a sharp ache. She’d kept it secret, never letting me hope for more.

She secretly took abortion pills and forced the child out, losing a lot of blood. I found her doubled over in pain, pale as a ghost. I rushed her to the hospital, never knowing the real reason. She never spoke of it again.

Back then, I thought she was just having her monthly discomfort, so I took care of her with brown sugar and dates. I fussed over her, thinking I was being a good husband. I was clueless, kept in the dark.

Later, Danny grew up, always loafing at home. I begged everyone to get him a letter of recommendation for a real job. I went around, hat in hand, asking old friends to help him out. I thought I was giving him a leg up, but all I did was teach him to lean on me.

Danny got cocky, thinking he was so capable, boasting everywhere. He strutted around town, acting like he was owed everything. The pride I felt turned sour.

Danny’s grandma said, "This is thanks to your mom. If she hadn’t lost Mike’s child, would Mike have cared so much about you? No one is truly selfless. With their own child, who would care about a stepson?"

Her words stung, but there was truth in them. I’d poured everything into Danny, hoping he’d be grateful, but he never was.

By then, Danny’s grandma was old. Not only did we give her fifty bucks a month, but at Danny’s request, we took her into my home to care for her. I spent my days caring for her, watching her grow more demanding as her strength faded. The burden was heavy, but I bore it without complaint.

I was furious and wanted to argue, but after calming down, I realized I was too old to raise a little kid, and fighting would just ruin the family’s peace. I swallowed my anger, telling myself peace was worth the price. Now I see how wrong I was.

When Linda saw me come in, she looked panicked for a moment, but quickly recovered. She always had a mask ready—a smile, a frown, whatever the moment called for. I saw through it now.

"Why are you back now?" Her voice was sharp, suspicious. She was always on guard, afraid of losing control.

If I’d been more observant, I’d have seen the calculation and contempt on Danny’s face. He watched me with narrowed eyes, already plotting his next move. I missed it then, but not now.

But over the years, Linda always said, "Put the kid first." It became a mantra, an excuse for every slight, every sacrifice. I swallowed it whole, thinking it was love.

I got used to it, and forgot Danny was already a grown man, mature and scheming. Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped seeing him as a child. That was my mistake, and I wouldn’t make it again.