After being reborn, we went our separate ways. My ex-husband, who had azoospermia, regretted it.

“Okay, so picture this: It’s Groundhog Day, but instead of a furry rodent, I’m stuck reliving the same freaking life. My ex, Kevin, and I died in a car wreck. I woke up, bam, back before we even started dating.

Last time around, we were married for seven years, seven years of me going through fertility treatments, you name it, hoping for a baby. He just kept blaming me, saying I couldn’t give him the perfect little family. Non-stop fighting.

This time? I’m letting him go. We both acted like we didn’t know each other, just brushed past in the crowd.

Fast forward seven years, and guess where I see him again? At my daughter’s dance recital at her preschool. He’s rolling up in some fancy new SUV, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. He sees me and can’t help himself. ““Well, well, if it isn’t Sarah. Looks like you finally managed to lay an egg.””

I just ignored him, looking over at the little boy standing next to him. I knew the truth. The reason we couldn’t have kids wasn’t me.”