Who Wrote 'In The Next Life I Beg For Your Love'?

From as far back as I can remember, I knew my mom hated me. She gives me sleeping pills when I'm three. When I'm five, she tries pesticide instead. But I'm hard to get rid of. By the time I'm seven, I've already learned how to fight back. If she refuses to give me food, I flip the table so no one can eat either. If she beats me up until I'm on the ground, writhing in pain, I go after her beloved son the same way, leaving him bruised and bawling. That's how we stay locked in battle until I turn 12. Everything changes when my youngest sister is born. I'm clumsily trying to help with her wet diaper when Mom suddenly shoves me against the wall. The look in her eyes holds both disgust and fear. "What were you trying to do to my daughter? I knew it. You take after that monster of a father. Why didn't you just die with him?" I hold my aching head. For the first time, I don't fight back. I believe she's right. My existence is a mistake. I should never have been alive.

I never called my stepbrother, Victor Rossi, "brother." I loved him. In my previous life, I forced him to marry me, and we became the most infamously miserable couple in New Hampston's mafia circles. On Monday, he threw me into a lion's cage after starving the beast for three days. On Tuesday, I tied him to a spinning wheel and forced him to play Russian roulette. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. I hated him because we had grown up side by side, yet even after ten years of marriage, he could not forget the woman from the fishing village. Even in bed, wrapped around each other, we hurled the cruelest curses at one another. When the cruise ship went up in flames, Victor gave me his chance to live. He shoved me onto the last lifeboat, his voice gentler than it had ever been. "This life was exhausting. I don't want to fight with you anymore. Live well. In the next life, let me go." I watched the fire swallow him along with the ship. The deep sea buried everything. The light in my eyes went out with it. I threw myself into the freezing water and ended that absurd, painful life with my own hands. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the moment I forced him to marry me. In this life, I would not destroy us both. As I watched him kneel before me, defiant even in the face of death, I did not drive away the woman he loved as I had before. "I will let you have her." Under Victor's stunned gaze, my eyes reddened as I spoke softly. "This time, I am the one who does not want you."

To save my husband, I drank until my stomach bled. Despite making it to the hospital, no one would treat me—all because he, a prominent surgeon, forbade anyone from attending to his own wife. In a previous life, he had saved me, a deed that fate cruelly repaid: the same day he saved me, his beloved, Lily Evans, tragically died during surgery. Consumed by regret, he lamented, "If I hadn't saved you, she might still be alive." On my birthday, in a twisted celebration, he intoxicated both me and our daughter. In a horrifying turn, he used his surgical skills to ruthlessly stab us both. As I lay bleeding, I begged for our daughter's life, pleading with him to spare her, his biological child. He coldly justified his brutality by claiming that being tied to me caused him to miss his chance with his true love. Fueled by a desperate need to protect my daughter, I fought him ferociously. He inflicted thirty-eight merciless wounds on me before turning his murderous intent towards our child. As I faced death, my last sight was of him, his decision clear as he once again chose his lost love over his living family.

When I was 4, I met this guy. When I was 12, were together 8 years When I was 14, I foolishly discovered that I had loved him for a long time. When I was 17, we were a couple. When I was 18, we were a long way apart. I hope it's still you in the next life. Again, when I am 18, I finally met you. In my life, I admit I will lose to your hands.

I have been reborn 999 times, all to save my husband from the woman he can never forget. Each time, he hides the truth from me, only to be tricked by her into entering that room destined to go up in flames. He always dies in the fiery explosion. Nearly a thousand lifetimes pass, and I never once complain, even though loving him tears me apart. However, this time, I have made up my mind. I won't save him. This time, I will watch him die with my own eyes.

Right after I die, my wife goes on a date with her first love. I once told her, "If I die, I swear I won't love you in the next life." She scoffs. "Gladly. But people like you live forever, don't they?" Just as she wishes, I die. However, right then, she holds my urn close, whispering, "Are you still mad at me?"