Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 412: You don’t sound like someone talking nonsense
Silence settled over them.
Not the comfortable kind—this one felt heavy, expectant, as though the room itself was waiting for something to be said.
Anna blinked, once. Twice.
Daniel stayed still, watching her, bracing himself for dismissal. He remembered the first time he had spoken about his dreams—those fractured images where she slipped through his fingers, where her breath faded while he stood helpless.
He had told her once.
Only once.
Back then, he hadn’t lingered on it. He had convinced himself it was just a nightmare, born from guilt and exhaustion. More importantly, he hadn’t wanted to trouble her with something so dark when their relationship itself had been hanging by a thread.
Trust hadn’t existed between them then.
Love hadn’t either.
At that time, Anna’s only goal had been to leave him—to divorce him and reclaim her life. Even if she had listened, she would have brushed it aside. He knew that.
What Daniel hadn’t known was this—
Anna was not someone who forgot.
Not when things brushed too close to her. Not when they carried her name.
Back then, she had dismissed his words, assuming he was weaving stories to hold her attention, to keep her from walking away. She had laughed it off, filed it away as meaningless.
But now... standing here, watching his face as he spoke, something inside her stirred.
Something felt wrong.
Jason’s quiet concern when Daniel had sought him out.
Henry’s explanation—careful, guarded, unfinished.
And now this.
"Past lives?" Anna repeated slowly.
The words sounded foreign on her tongue.
Daniel swallowed.
His gaze never left her face, but something flickered in her eyes—something achingly familiar. Recognition, perhaps. Or uncertainty trying to pass as calm.
"Maybe I’m just dreaming," he said after a moment, forcing out a soft chuckle. "I shouldn’t be saying things like this."
Anna frowned.
Daniel wasn’t someone who joked about confusion. And he wasn’t foolish enough to frighten her with theories he didn’t believe himself.
Yet how was he supposed to ignore what he had heard that night—what had slipped from Anna and Kathrine’s lips when they were drunk? How was he supposed to forget the way his heart had reacted, sharp and immediate, as though something old had been torn open?
They moved almost in unison, turning toward the door, ready to return to their room.
That was when Anna spoke.
"What if I say I do?"
Daniel stopped.
Slowly, he turned back to her.
"You... do?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
Anna stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as though crossing a line she could no longer retreat from. When they stood face to face, the air between them felt charged—thick with unspoken truths.
Her heart raced, not with fear, but with certainty.
This conversation had been waiting for them.
"I don’t know how to explain it," she said softly. "But when you talk about it... it doesn’t sound unfamiliar. It feels like something I forgot, not something I’ve never known."
Daniel’s chest tightened painfully.
"The recording you heard that day wasn’t drunken talk," Anna said quietly. "It was... emotions from my past life. Something I was reliving without meaning to."
The words settled between them—soft, but devastating.
Daniel stilled.
"I had a rebirth, Daniel," she continued, her voice steady even as her fingers curled at her sides. "Because I died in my past life."
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Rebirth.
The same word he had spoken in Jason’s office. The same word Jason had dismissed with clinical calm, telling him stress could fracture the mind, create illusions that felt real. Daniel had wanted to believe that. Had needed to.
Yet how else did he explain the dreams? The way he kept seeing himself standing over her lifeless body, screaming into nothingness, grief so raw it felt carved into his bones—grief for a loss he had never lived in this life.
His lips parted, but no words came.
He tried to steady his breathing, to ground himself in logic. In reality. In the woman standing before him who looked very much alive.
"I..." His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. "I think we should sleep." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
The words sounded wrong even to his own ears.
Anna said nothing.
She watched him carefully, reading the struggle etched across his face. She had expected disbelief. Fear. She had expected him to laugh it off, to tell her she was imagining things.
She hadn’t expected him to look... shaken.
I just hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy, she thought silently. Because if he does, then he’s not sleeping beside me tonight.
The thought made her chest tighten.
She had spent so long hiding the truth—even from herself—that saying it aloud felt like stepping off a cliff. But she was tired of pretending. Tired of dismissing the fragments that haunted her when she closed her eyes.
The couple returned to their room quietly.
No hurried words. No awkward glances. Just the soft click of the door and the muted glow of the bedside lamp as they slipped beneath the covers. They lay side by side, facing the ceiling, the space between them heavy with everything left unsaid.
Silence lingered—not uncomfortable, but thoughtful.
Daniel’s mind refused to slow. Images brushed against his thoughts, half-formed and fleeting, as if something deep within him was trying to surface but lacked the language to do so. He stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, breathing measured, afraid that if he spoke, whatever fragile balance they’d reached would shatter.
Beside him, Anna turned slightly.
"I’m not asking you to trust me, Daniel," she said softly.
Her voice was calm, unpressured—no desperation, no demand. Just honesty.
"I just want you to know that I believe in you."
He swallowed.
The words settled gently, not as a weight, but as reassurance. She wasn’t forcing him to accept her truth. She wasn’t asking him to agree or understand or make sense of it all tonight.
She was giving him space.
Daniel turned his head to look at her. Her face was relaxed now, eyes open but unfocused, as though she, too, was letting her thoughts drift where they would.
"You don’t sound like someone talking nonsense," he said quietly after a moment.
Her lips curved faintly, though she didn’t look at him.
"That’s enough for now," she replied.
The night stretched on, long and contemplative.
Daniel wrestled with fragments of memories that didn’t belong to this life—faces, emotions, grief that felt far too real to be imagined. Anna, meanwhile, stared into the darkness, wondering what had become of the man he once was, of the family she might have lost, and why fate had chosen now to stir what should have remained buried.
Sleep came slowly.
But when it finally did, it came without warning.
Somewhere between one breath and the next, the tension eased. Daniel’s restless hand shifted instinctively, finding Anna’s waist. She responded without waking, turning toward him as though drawn by something older than memory.
Their foreheads brushed. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
The words from earlier faded into the quiet, slipping gently into the dark.
And in the hush of the night, they found each other—not through answers or certainty, but through something far simpler.
Presence.
