My Husband’s Parking Trick Exposed His Affair Chapter 13

My Husband’s Parking Trick Exposed His Affair Chapter 13

So this time, I decided to let them be and walk away on my 

own. 

But I never expected that this time, that woman would make a different choice. 

Just by looking at me, she instantly understood everything 

that she was me and trapped in this inescapable endless loop. 

She was overcome with despair. 

And so, this time, she chose to end her own life. 

She was me, so I knew her. 

I knew she’d seen the whole picture. 

She understood that the root of the problem wasn’t me but 

her, for she was the variable. 

The factor that had thrown everything off balance. 

And so, she chose to destroy herself and erase that variable. 

My mother finished speaking, and handed me a carefully 

preserved note. 

“This is what Andrew left for you, right before he died.” 

My fingers trembled as I opened the note. 

It was Andrew’s handwriting. 

[I’m sorry, Lorette. I know everything now. It was I who hurt you, time and time again. All these cycles have happened 

because we died at the same time, every time. As long as you 

live, this will all end. So I hope in this life, you can live well, for 

both of us.] 

[I love you. No matter what you become, the only person I have ever loved is you.] 

The death of the other me had made Andrew see everything 

clearly. 

He’d seen the countless past loops, the times I’d died, over 

and over. 

Overwhelming regret and despair crushed him. 

And so this time, he chose to end his own life, taking the other me and all this endless sin and pain down into the lake. 

The loop, it seemed, had been forcibly broken by their deaths. 

I survived, carrying all the memories of every cycle. 

And the tangled, bittersweet emotions I held for Andrew. 

My physical wounds healed. 

But a huge void was left in my heart. 

I’d lost not only my husband but also another part of myself. 

The world fell silent. 

Gone was the eerie loop, leaving only real pain and memories. 

Days passed. 

Grief settled into a dull, endless ache and emptiness. 

I began trying to do things I’d never done before, to go to places I’d never been. 

As if I could overwrite my old path with new experiences. 

But the memories of these seven years and all these cycles still 

kept me trapped in sorrow. 

Until one late autumn afternoon, I found myself back in my 

hometown. 

Back at the high school that had been the starting point of the 

loop. 

The school had expanded, but the old library still stood. 

It had escaped demolition, quiet in a corner of the campus. 

I walked inside. It had been renovated, but the layout was 

unchanged. 

Looking at the familiar yet foreign scene, I was transported 

back to that rainy day, so many years ago. 

I wandered aimlessly between the shelves, my fingers brushing the rough spines of the books. 

In a daze, I turned to walk down the corridor toward the exit. 

I crashed straight into someone. 

The books in their arms scattered across the floor. 

“I’m sorry.” 

We spoke at the exact same time. 

I knelt down quickly to help pick them up. 

The other person scrambled to gather them too. 

When I handed over a copy of The Old Man and the Sea and looked up at them, 

I froze. 

The neat short hair, the crisp white shirt, the thick, sharp brows, the high bridge of the nose, the thin lips. 

It was Andrew Leto, a young Andrew in his teens. 

The exact age we’d been, every single time we first met. 

He took the book, and the moment our eyes met, he froze too. 

We stared at each other in silence. 

Those few seconds stretched on like an eternity. 

After a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbed, his lips parted, and he spoke softly, saying the exact same opening line he’d said, in every single life. 

“I think… I’ve seen you somewhere before.”