

After losing his mother to cancer, Yale Mond falls into deep despair. Soon after, his girlfriend Lillian Jones is diagnosed with leukemia. Not wanting Yale to endure another heartbreak, Lillian hides her illness and ends their relationship.Devastated, Yale goes abroad to study medicine.Five years later, he returns as the director of a hospital, bringing with him a miracle cancer drug.Unbeknownst to him, Lillian’s leukemia has worsened after she secretly gave birth to their daughter Annie. Unable to afford treatment, she ends up living under a bridge. Through Annie, Yale finally finds Lillian, and the long-standing misunderstanding between them is resolved. Using the miracle cancer drug, Yale saves the dying Lillian, and the family of three is finally reunited.

Dennis Moregard falls asleep as himself and wakes up ten years ahead, married to his childhood sweetheart Fiona Sterling, with an adorable five-year-old calling him Dad. The picture should be perfect. Except it isn't his life.For a decade, someone else wore his face and his name, slowly poisoning everything: growing cold, growing careless, driving Fiona away until she finally asked for a divorce. Now, the real Dennis is back in a body that has already burned every bridge he would have built. With the weight of ten lost years and someone else's wreckage on his hands, he makes a single, stubborn decision to start over, to chase her, and to prove that the man she fell in love with was always in there, just waiting to come home.

I finally scored the World Cup tickets my fiancé, Louis, had been dying to get. I was thrilled and about to tell him the good news when I overheard his friend talking to him: "Skyler turned down a design gig at Milan Fashion Week just to be with you, and now you’re giving the ticket to Monica? That’s a dick move, man." Louis just chuckled, his tone dismissive. "Watching it with her is boring. You know I’m used to having Monica around for every World Cup." So he had already gotten tickets, and he never planned on taking me. The realization hit me then: for the past twelve years, every single World Cup, he had been by Monica’s side. Every time their team scored, she was the first person he hugged to celebrate. Back then, he would coax me: "Monica and I grew up together. I’m just used to it—she was around long before you were. Don't be mad, okay? Next time, I promise it’ll just be you and me." Suddenly, I just felt exhausted. I tore up the tickets, canceled our marriage registration scheduled for next month, packed my bags, and booked a flight back to my hometown for the very next day. This time, I was the one walking away.