A deadly heatwave swept across the city. My husband, ever so compassionate toward the single mother and her child next door, took all the purified water I had carefully stockpiled and gave it to them. When I confronted him, anger burning in my chest, he exploded, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “The taps still run, don’t they? Stop being so delicate! Are you really going to fight a kid over water?” Days later, the water supply was cut off. The neighbors, grateful only to him, offered him water but left me out in the scorching heat. Desperate and parched, I ventured out to find water, only to collapse from heatstroke and dehydration. My husband and the neighbor thrived. They used the very supplies I had hoarded, surviving together and eventually building a new life together. But fate had other plans. I woke up right before the heat wave hit. This time, my husband was once again dismissive of my preparations. I smiled sweetly, nodding as if he’d delivered the wisdom of the century. “You’re absolutely right, dear.” But in my heart, I vowed that this time, I wouldn’t lift a finger. Let him see how long they could survive without me.
“Severe heatwaves will continue sweeping the nation over the next two weeks. Residents are urged to stay alert, avoid going outdoors, and take precautions against heatstroke!” The familiar news alert sent chills down my spine. In my last life, I had collapsed from heatstroke and dehydration, left to die under the relentless sun. The memory of my skin burning came rushing back. I shuddered, trying to shake off the haunting images as I wolfed down ten popsicles in a desperate attempt to cool my body and mind. Then my phone rang. My husband, Liam Carter, barked at me before I could even say hello. “Jane! What’s your problem with Clara and her daughter now? Are you seriously picking on a kid who doesn’t even have a dad? How petty can you be?” His relentless accusations, devoid of logic or fairness, momentarily stunned me. No matter the situation, Liam always prioritized the mother-daughter duo next door. He was a doctor, and years ago, a friend had died of a heart attack while he stood helplessly by. Guilt-ridden, he had spent every day since trying to “make up” for it. That was how Clara and her daughter ended up living next door on his dime. Leaky pipes, clogged drains, a crying child… big or small, he was always at their beck and call. In my past life, I had taken the looming heatwave seriously. I had asked Liam to come with me to stockpile food and water. But when the time came, he brushed me off, saying he needed to spend time with their daughter, Mia. “You’re overreacting,” he had said, dismissing my concerns as paranoia. Frustrated, I texted Clara, asking her to let me have my husband for just one day. But my message only made her cry. Liam, ever the knight in shining armor, called me moments later to tear me apart over the phone. Left with no other choice, I went to the supermarket alone, battling the crowds of desperate shoppers for supplies. My arms were bruised and scratched by the time I hauled cartloads of goods back home. But before I could catch my breath, Liam had already ordered workers to deliver everything to the house next door. “Clara and her daughter are too frail to go out shopping,” he explained. “Think of this as a good deed; it’s good karma for you.” When the extreme heat made stepping outside unbearable, he didn’t hesitate to give our last five gallons of purified water to the neighbors. I confronted him, furious. “What about me? Do I not matter to you at all?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “There’s still water in the pipes, isn’t there? What are you, royalty? Fighting with a child over water, how selfish can you be?” By the sixth day of the heatwave, the pipes ran dry. When I went to Clara for help, she hesitated, biting her lip. “Jane, I’d really love to help, but we’re running low on supplies, too. It’s not that I’m being selfish, but Liam has done so much for us over the years…” I didn’t let her finish. “Don’t you dare! Those supplies are mine! I bought them!” But Liam didn’t care. He praised her for her “kindness” while berating me for being difficult. “Stop making things hard for her. If you need water, go figure it out yourself!” It was as if they’d both forgotten who had stockpiled the supplies in the first place. Without me, neither of them would have survived. Unable to argue or fight my way through, I left to search for water on my own, only to collapse and die in the suffocating heat. But this time? I wouldn’t be their scapegoat again. I decided to take care of myself. “Liam, you’re absolutely right,” I said sweetly, cutting into his tirade. He seemed pleased with my compliance. “Good. Mia has no dad, so I need to look after them. Don’t make things harder than they need to be.” I nodded along, keeping my tone docile. “Of course, I understand.” The moment I hung up, I wasted no time calling a real estate agent. If he wanted to play hero, fine. But I wouldn’t let him drag me down with him.
Extreme weather lays bare the true nature of people. I urged the real estate agent to quickly secure a villa in the suburbs, assuring them that price was no object. First, a pricier residence meant better security and more refined neighbors, an essential filter against potential threats when living alone. Second, the suburban location promised fewer people and better greenery, a perfect haven from the heat. The agent was efficient. The villa’s owner had settled overseas, ensuring no disturbances to my carefully planned month of survival. With the property secured, I wasted no time. I headed straight to the supermarket to stock up. In my last life, I had died of dehydration. This time, watching barrels of water delivered to the villa, I felt the weight in my chest finally ease. Truckloads of instant food, grains, oils, and meat soon followed, filling every corner of the house. Thankfully, the villa came equipped with large freezers, making food storage much easier. At the time, most people dismissed the importance of fruits and vegetables, deeming them too perishable. When they saw me loading cart after cart with fresh produce, their reactions ranged from scoffs to outright laughter. But I knew better. I turned the vegetables into pickles or froze them in the massive freezers. No one foresaw how vital these would become. Soon, fruits and vegetables would be the last viable source of vitamin C. The relentless heat would wither crops in the fields, leaving nothing but rot in its wake. For six long months, even after temperatures normalized, fresh produce would remain an impossible luxury. Many who survived the heatwave would later succumb to scurvy and its devastating complications, like brain hemorrhages. But food wasn’t my only priority. I also bought out the bulk of the city’s stock of blankets, down coats, hand warmers, candles, lighters, and matches. On top of that, I hauled in charcoal and firewood. While most people assumed that surviving the heatwave meant the worst was over, I knew better. Extreme weather was rarely an isolated event. It often signaled the arrival of other calamities. After my death in my previous life, my lingering spirit had watched as the city erupted in joyous celebration when the heatwave finally ended. But their relief was premature. Nobody saw what was coming next. Without warning, a week of utter darkness descended upon the earth. A once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon caused by geomagnetic disruptions kept the sun from rising. The darkness was suffocating, and the cold was unbearable. But it wasn’t the cold that broke people. It was the endless, maddening blackness that unleashed the ugliest parts of human nature. The city’s electricity grid, already strained from the heatwave, collapsed under the demand for heating. Solar panels and batteries were an option, but their limited capacity rendered them almost useless. Instead, the simplicity of candles and firewood proved far more reliable. I also stocked up on essential medicines from the pharmacy. To avoid drawing attention, I hired different drivers to deliver each truckload of supplies. It had been only two days since I began my preparations. Then, as if he’d suddenly remembered my existence, Liam called from next door, where he was happily playing surrogate father to Clara and Mia. “Jane, are you out partying so much you’ve forgotten your way home? Tomorrow’s going to hit 117°F! You’d better get out there and stock up on food and water for Clara and Mia before it’s too late!”
I found it laughable. Liam, who had spent the past two days practically living at Clara’s house, had the audacity to accuse me of neglecting my own home. Enjoying the bliss of playing husband and father to his “adopted” family, it seemed he had finally realized the looming danger of the heatwave. “Jane! Are you listening? Where are you? Go stock up on food and water before Clara and Mia starve!” His exasperated tone practically dripped through the phone. “Why can’t you be more like Clara? She knows how to take care of a family!” The irony wasn’t lost on me. Clara certainly knew how to “care” for a family, just never her own. And Liam had outdone himself with his double standards. When I prepared for the heatwave last time, I was “overreacting.” When I didn’t buy anything, I was “irresponsible.” It seemed that no matter what I did, I’d always be the villain in his eyes. A walking scapegoat for all his problems. He had probably despised me for long. After all, my existence prevented him from living with Clara and Mia. If that was the case, why not live life on my own terms? I didn’t bother arguing. “Didn’t you see my message? I’m out of town on business and can’t get away. Besides, the stores are almost emptied by now. Why don’t you and Clara try a few more places? You might get lucky.” I figured this would be my last act of kindness. After all, we had been married for years. Tomorrow, the temperature was set to soar to 124°F, hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement. For safety reasons, stores would close, and people would barricade themselves indoors. But Liam couldn’t care less. He was still preoccupied with doting on his “goddaughter.” “It’s Mia’s first Children’s Day since her father passed,” he said stubbornly. “Clara and I promised to spend it with her. If you can’t handle a simple task like this, don’t bother coming home!” “Oh, so I’m still your wife when you need a servant?” I thought. I rolled my eyes, hung up, and unwrapped a popsicle. Let him make his choice. Playtime or survival? I wasn’t about to save someone so determined to dig his own grave. The first day of the heatwave arrived, and the government announced a halt to work and school. Strangely, some people saw this as a cause for celebration. Under the searing sun, they danced and partied in the streets. It didn’t take long for the first person to collapse. Then, the second. And the third. Panic spread. People began to realize this wasn’t something worth celebrating. Animals lay dead on the streets, their bodies bloated and scorched. The stench of decay filled the air, forcing people indoors. By the second day, whispers of prayer and chants for salvation began to echo in the silence. Meanwhile, I sat in the guest room of my well-stocked villa, savoring delicious food with the AC on full blast while watching the surveillance footage. Then, I found out that Clara and Mia had already moved into my house.
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