I Woke Up Engaged to My Ex-Husband Again - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

A month later, Andrew's letter arrived—pages upon pages of eloquent prose describing the borderlands' stark beauty, the envy his comrades had for my dowry, and how my father's generous provisions had turned their campaign into something closer to a well-supplied expedition.
"The enemy's lost their nerve after repeated defeats," he wrote. "With our preparations, they barely dare to skirmish. This war will be over sooner than anyone expected."
In my reply, I shared updates about the city—Mrs. Carter and Nia were safe, and I'd begun assisting with the family shop. After a pause, I added a line I'd hesitated over: [I miss you terribly. Come home soon.]
I tucked in a set of clothes I'd sewn myself.
His response was swift, brimming with playful arrogance. The other soldiers, he boasted, were green with envy over his care package.
Inspired, I visited the Carter army's camp and proposed organizing a letter-writing service for soldiers' families. Few could write, so I enlisted scholars to help. Word spread like wildfire—soon, even the Empress took notice, declaring me a "heroine and a model of womanly virtue." Before long, volunteers flocked to the camp.
That's when I saw Max again.
He looked haggard, shadows under his eyes. The officials who once clung to him now kept their distance. He tried to approach me, but Wendy blocked him, muttering about "that deranged man."
Three frenzied days later, stacks of letters were ready for delivery. I prayed they'd bring comfort to the frontlines—and hasten the soldiers' return.
The Watson Mansion
After dinner, Wendy fidgeted beside me.
"Out with it," I said.
"Miss, you didn't see how Mr. Charlie was staring at you today," she whispered. "Like he wanted to snatch you away. If Mr. Carter were here—"
"What nonsense." I frowned.
"His household's in shambles!" she blurted. "Madam Charlie brought in two new concubines to spite Rose, and now they're all clawing at each other. Rumor has it Rose offended half the ton at some banquet—"
"Enough gossip." I tapped her forehead.
Later, Nia crawled into my bed, her warmth a quiet joy. As I watched her sleep, it struck me—this new life was everything I'd never dared hope for.
Andrew's letters stopped. The silence gnawed at us—until an imperial messenger arrived.
"General Carter returns victorious by year's end!" he announced. "The Emperor acknowledges the Watsons' crucial support—your funds surpassed the Treasury's!"
Mrs. Carter bustled home to prepare, and I joined her. Days blurred in happy chaos.
On the 29th, snow swirled as crowds gathered at Pentagon Pavilion. I paced, ignoring Wendy's pleas to wait in the carriage.
"Do you like him that much?" a voice sneered from the crowd.
Before I could react, hoofbeats thundered. The mob erupted—and then Andrew's arms were around me, his laugh rough with exhaustion.
"Couldn't even wait in the carriage, could you?" He grinned. "Eager to marry me?"
I swatted him, flushing, as he greeted officials. Then he ducked into my carriage, ignoring protocol.
"Shouldn't you report to the Emperor?" I asked.
"Father's handling it." His calloused hand cradled my face. "Look at you. My brave, brilliant girl."
Tears pricked my eyes—for the life we'd lost before, for this second chance. He wiped them away, murmuring of trade pacts that would starve future wars.
Nearby, unseen eyes burned into us.
On the third day of the New Year, the Carters came to finalize our wedding. Andrew insisted on the earliest date—the 16th of the month.
"The dress is ready," Father assured them. "A hundred embroiderers worked on it since he left."
Andrew's gaze scorched me. "I'd marry you tomorrow if I could."
I fled to the embroidery pavilion, his laughter trailing me—only to freeze at the sight of Max inside.
"Don't marry him," he begged, reeking of desperation. "Rose is a petty fool. I'll divorce them all. You're my only—"
"I didn't go to the garden that day either," I said coldly.
His face paled. "You… remember?"
"Everything." My voice was steel. "In that life, I loved someone else. It was always Andrew."
As Max staggered out, Andrew emerged from the shadows, crushing me to his chest. "Seren," he choked, "we won't waste this life."
Rose died in disgrace—caught in an affair, screaming about broken promises. Max vanished into a monastery.
On the 16th, Andrew rode in like a storybook prince. That night, amid flickering candles, he whispered, "We're husband and wife."
By year's end, our trade networks spanned nations, knitting them together in peace. And when our son was born, Andrew wept into his tiny fists—grateful, awed, utterly mine.
"Thank you," he kept saying.
I smiled. However many lives it took, we'd found our way.