Marriage Application: A Fateful Revelation

"Next."

The words called out at city hall, flat and mundane, were supposed to usher me into a new life with Chloe, the woman I' d loved for ten years.

Chloe nudged me, impatient. "Mark, that's us. Hurry up."

But as the clerk took the marriage application, her voice, initially bored, turned sharp: "Mark Peterson and... Kevin Peterson? Is this correct?"

Chloe froze, her perfectly sculpted face contorting in confusion and rage. "What did you say?"

The clerk pointed, revealing my brother' s name where hers should have been. "That's two male names. We can't process this."

Chloe snatched the application, her eyes scanning, then fixed on me, venomous. "Mark! What is this? Why is your brother's name on here? Where's the real application?"

In a flash, a memory surfaced: my past life, on my deathbed at 52, Chloe and Kevin holding hands. They demanded I sign divorce papers, asking not about my pain, but about their "true love" having waited so long. For thirty years, they had used me, behind my back, living off my money.

The woman I would have died for, in another life, nearly made me.

But this wasn't that life. This was my second chance.

"There is no other application," I stated, my voice steady, pulling out a blank form. "You and Kevin can fill this one out. I'm sure he'll be happy to sign it."

Confusion, then chilling anger warred on her face. Her perfectly crafted world was crumbling, and she had no idea why. She didn't know the story of the man she had betrayed, not really.

I walked away from her, not looking back, the marriage application to my brother a stark symbol of her true place in my life-and his. This time, I' d choose my own path.

"Next."

The clerk at the city hall counter called out the number, her voice flat.

Chloe Davis nudged my arm, her impatience obvious. "Mark, that's us. Hurry up."

I stood up, the marriage application feeling heavy in my hand. The paper was crisp, the ink fresh. I had filled it out just this morning.

"Are you nervous?" Chloe asked, her voice a little softer now, trying to sound like a caring fiancée.

I didn't answer. I just walked to the counter.

The clerk took the form from me without looking up. Her stamp hovered over the paper. "Mark Peterson and... Kevin Peterson? Is this correct?"

Chloe, who had been fixing her hair in the reflection of the plexiglass barrier, froze.

Her head snapped toward the counter. "What did you say?"

The clerk pointed a pen at the form. "The names on the application are Mark Peterson and Kevin Peterson. That's two male names. We can't process this."

Chloe snatched the application from the counter. Her eyes scanned the lines of text, her perfectly shaped eyebrows pulling together in a frown.

"Mark! What is this? Why is your brother's name on here?" Her voice was a sharp whisper. "Where's the real application? The one with my name on it?"

I looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The woman I had loved for ten years. The woman I would have died for.

In another life, I almost did.

A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. I was fifty-two, lying in a sterile white hospital bed. The scent of antiseptic was all I could smell. Chloe and my younger brother, Kevin, stood by my side. They were holding hands.

Chloe' s eyes were filled with tears, but not for me.

"Mark," she had said, her voice trembling. "The doctor said you don't have much time. Please, just sign the divorce papers. Fulfill my wish. Kevin and I have waited so long."

Kevin, my little brother whom I had raised, looked down at me with pity. "Bro, Chloe and I are true love. Just let us be together."

True love. For thirty years, they had been behind my back, using my money, living in my house, all while carrying on their "true love" story. And in my final moments, they didn't ask if I was in pain. They asked for a divorce.

The memory vanished as quickly as it came. I was twenty-two again. Young, healthy, with a whole life ahead of me. A life I would not waste this time.

"There is no other application," I said, my voice steady.

"What do you mean?" Chloe demanded. "We're supposed to get married today! Did you forget?"

I looked past her, toward the entrance of the city hall. Kevin was supposed to be here. I had told him to meet us, to be our witness. He was late, as usual.

"I didn't forget," I said. "I just changed my mind."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out another form. It was a fresh marriage application. I had brought two, just in case. I placed it on the counter in front of her.

"Here," I said. "You and Kevin can fill this one out. I'm sure he'll be happy to sign it."

Chloe stared at the blank form, then at me. Confusion and anger warred on her face. "Mark, this isn't funny. What's wrong with you? Kevin is your brother."

"I know exactly who he is," I said. "And I know who you are, too."

I turned my back on her. I didn't want to see her face anymore. I didn't want to hear her voice.

"Mark, don't you walk away from me!" she yelled. "Kevin is just worried about you! He hurt his hand trying to get your suit ready this morning, that's why he's late!"

Her words hit me, but not in the way she intended. In my past life, every time Kevin had a minor scrape or a sniffle, it was a major crisis. Chloe would hover over him, coddling him, while I was expected to handle everything, to pay for everything, to be the responsible one. She always put him first.

I remembered the night I got pneumonia. I was running a high fever, struggling to breathe. I asked Chloe for a glass of water, and she told me to get it myself because Kevin had a headache and she needed to massage his temples.

That was the night I realized how little I meant to her.

The rage from my past life, the deep, soul-crushing bitterness of thirty years of betrayal, solidified into a cold, hard resolve. I would not let them ruin me again.

I walked out of the city hall without looking back. The sun was bright, the air was warm. I took a deep breath, and for the first time since my rebirth, I felt a sense of release.

It was the feeling of chains breaking. The feeling of freedom.

This time, I would fly. Alone.

The Peterson family wasn't my real family. My parents died in a car crash when I was ten. The Davises, Chloe's parents, were friends of my family and took me in. They had Chloe, who was my age, and they treated me well enough. But a year later, Mrs. Davis' s sister passed away, leaving behind her five-year-old son, Kevin. So he came to live with us too.

From the moment Kevin arrived, he became the center of the universe. He was younger, cuter, and knew how to cry and act pitiful to get what he wanted. Mrs. Davis doted on him. Chloe adored him.

If Kevin and I both wanted the last piece of cake, it always went to Kevin. If we both got good grades, Kevin's were celebrated, while mine were expected. He was the fragile, precious boy, and I was the older, responsible one who should know better than to compete with his little brother.

I didn't mind. I loved Kevin. I thought it was my job to protect him, to provide for him. In my past life, I dropped out of my top-choice university because Chloe said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. The real reason, I later learned, was that she didn't want to be away from Kevin. I got a job in construction, working long, hard hours to support them both. I paid for Kevin' s art classes, his expensive clothes, his everything. I thought I was being a good brother, a good fiancé.

I was just being a fool.

This time, things would be different. The first thing I did after leaving the city hall was go to an internet cafe. I pulled up the application for Stanford University. In my past life, it was my dream school. I had been accepted, but I gave it up for Chloe.

Not this time.

I filled out the application with steady hands. My grades from high school were excellent. The inheritance my parents left me was still in a trust fund, untouched. It was more than enough to cover tuition and living expenses. I hit "submit" and felt a wave of satisfaction wash over me. This was for me. This one thing was just for me.

I decided to head back to the Davis house to pack. I needed to get out before Chloe and Kevin returned. As I approached the front door, I heard voices from inside Chloe's room. The window was slightly ajar.

It was Chloe and her mother, Mrs. Davis.

"I just don't understand him, Mom," Chloe was saying, her voice tight with frustration. "He humiliated me. He put Kevin's name on the application! In front of everyone!"

"Calm down, Chloe," Mrs. Davis said, her voice smooth and pragmatic. "Maybe it's for the best."

"The best? How is this for the best? He's acting crazy!"

"Think about it," Mrs. Davis continued, her tone conspiratorial. "Mark is reliable, yes. He works hard. But he's... dull. He has no spark. Kevin, on the other hand, he's charming. He's an artist. He has so much potential. You've always had a soft spot for him, haven't you?"

There was a pause. I held my breath, my hand frozen on the doorknob.

"I... of course I care about Kevin," Chloe said, her voice dropping. "He needs me. He's so sensitive."

"Exactly," Mrs. Davis said. "And Mark's inheritance is substantial. Once you marry him, that money will support all of us. But if you were with Kevin... you'd have to support him. Mark is the better choice, financially. But he's just so boring."

The words cut deeper than any physical blow. They weren't just discussing me, they were appraising me like a piece of livestock. A reliable workhorse to fund their comfortable lives and Kevin's artistic whims.

"Mark is just throwing a tantrum," Chloe said finally, her voice regaining its confidence. "He loves me too much. He'll come around. I'll talk to him tonight and he'll be begging for my forgiveness by morning."

I couldn't listen anymore. The pain was a physical thing, a cold knot tightening in my chest. It was the same pain I had felt for thirty years in my past life, the pain of being constantly overlooked, taken for granted, and used.

But this time, the pain was different. It wasn't a slow poison. It was a fire, burning away the last remnants of my foolish love and devotion.

I quietly turned away from the door. I wouldn't pack tonight. I wouldn't give her the chance to "talk to me."

I walked away from that house, the house that was never truly my home. I kept my face blank, my steps even. I would not let them see me break. Not again.