In my past life, I hated that Henry Valentin was ten years older than me. I not only mocked him publicly for being stuffy and old-fashioned, but I also ran off with a younger guy right before our wedding. Henry Valentin became the laughingstock of everyone. Later, when I got into trouble overseas and everyone abandoned me, he was the only one who brought me home. But enemies tracked us down halfway. As he lay dying, he whispered, "I'm sorry. It’s all my fault." Huh, silly, I was the one who caused his death—and yet, he couldn't bear to blame me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at that party, right in the middle of my rant. "Let me make it clear today: I will absolutely not marry that old guy Henry Valentin!"
