Doomsday: My Reborn Wife Runs to Her Ex? I'm Thriving with the Barrage

My wife and in-laws have been acting strange lately.

They've always hated the Texas farm, but now they suddenly care about me and the ranch.

My wife, who used to complain about me spending money on the "doomsday bunker" farmhouse project, is now actually encouraging me to complete it.

They even say I've been working too hard and bought me a plane ticket to Mexico.

Just as I'm about to take the ticket, a barrage comment appears before my eyes—

【Don't go! Your wife has been reborn from the apocalypse—she wants you to die out there!】

 Chapter One

First-class ticket.

Flight to Cancún, a small city in Mexico.

The delicate cream-colored envelope sat on the dining table. Jessica pushed it toward me with two fingers, her nails freshly done—French tips in transparent pink, as clean as the smile on her face right now.

"Arthur," her voice dropped three degrees softer, "when was the last time you actually rested?"

I stared at the envelope without moving.

The kitchen smelled of charred meat. My mother-in-law was busy in there, more enthusiastic than on holidays.

My father-in-law Robert sat in the armchair to my right, legs crossed, a glass of bourbon at hand, his face wearing that "loving father" expression—he was never this amiable normally.

This family of three today could be summed up in two words: abnormal.

In four words: extremely abnormal.

Jessica's disdain for the Texas farm ran deeper than the oil beneath this land.

She hated the dust, the mosquitoes, me driving that pickup in and out every day, me pouring money underground to build a "doomsday fortress" farmhouse.

She loved Manhattan, Milan, and maxing out credit cards like conducting a symphony.

And now here she sat, gently pushing me a ticket to Cancún, her tone like comforting an old dog about to be put down.

I was about to speak when my retina exploded.

Not a metaphor.

It actually exploded.

Blood-red captions swept in from the edge of my eyeball, dense and overwhelming, like someone live-streaming barrage comments inside my eye:

【Run! This woman and her whole family are reborn!!】

【Front row seats—Arthur, listen to me, your current situation is: dead end.】

【Spoiler alert: In three days, red spore snow descends. All surface life mutates. Human civilization reset countdown: 72 hours.】

【Minor spoiler: Your virtuous wife has already contacted her ex-boyfriend Carlos. He's bringing an eleven-man heavily armed crew, currently assembling five miles away on Route 58. Four pickups, multiple AR rifles. Target: your ten-million-dollar bunker farmhouse.】

【The bunker farmhouse is about to become a real bunker!】

【Final spoiler: Your personal ending? Sent onto a plane. Three days later when spore snow hits Cancún, no weapons, no supplies—you'll freeze to death in a resort hotel. At least you'll look decent dead.】

【Congratulations, Arthur. You're their sacrifice.】

Within half a second, I completed the following actions:

Breathe.

Blink.

Lock my emotions in a safe, throw it into the Pacific, let it sink.

Then I looked up at Jessica.

Her eyes were deep brown, very pretty, currently gazing at me expectantly, corners of her mouth slightly upturned. A carefully controlled expression—gentle, considerate, with a hint of "I truly have your best interests at heart" wifely filter.

I'd known her six years. I knew this was the expression she wore when cooking the books. I knew this was also the expression when complaining about me to her family.

Today I learned this was also her expression when preparing to send me to my death.

"Cancún, huh," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Haven't been in a while."

【...Are you okay? I thought you'd flip the table.】

No need to flip the table.

Robert set down his whiskey, leaned forward, and patted my shoulder with more force than usual—a gesture like "nailing something down," confirming the prey was still in place.

"Arthur," he began in his elder's tone, voice low with that slow Texas drawl, "you work too hard, son. The bunker—workers can watch it. You and Jessica both need to catch your breath."

"Dad's right," Jessica emphasized the word "Dad," "you worked twenty-three days straight last month. I feel terrible. I specially booked this ticket—first class, all-inclusive resort. You don't need to bring anything except yourself to relax."

Mother-in-law poked her head out from the kitchen, face beaming: "I'll pack your luggage, you just go have fun!"

The family of three coordinated seamlessly, their pitch flawless, performance award-worthy.

【...Seriously, how many times did they rehearse this script?】

The barrage drifted by. I didn't even raise an eyelid.

I picked up the ticket and opened the envelope: tomorrow morning, nine o'clock flight, Austin, Texas to Cancún, first class, one-way.

One-way.

How thoughtful.

"Jessica," I looked up, "you're not coming with me?"

Her smile didn't change, but something tightened in her eyes—just for an instant, fast as an illusion: "I need to stay and keep Mom and Dad company for a few days. After you get there, I'll fly over to meet you."

【She's staying to receive Carlos.】

I know.

I slowly put the ticket back in the envelope, gently closed it, my fingers brushing across the cream-colored paper.

"Alright," I said, "I'll go pack."

Jessica froze for less than a second, then a flash shot through her eyes—ecstasy, success, absolute certainty of victory. She suppressed it well, but not completely.

Six years. I'd finally seen right through her.

In that moment, something inside me quietly snapped—like a string wound too long, not bursting but calmly releasing, making no sound at all.

Not because of heartbreak.

Because there was nothing left worth breaking over.

【...Bro, what are you feeling right now?】

I stood up and pushed back my chair.

What was I feeling?

I thought about it, then answered:

Relief.

When you no longer need to consider anyone, decisions become very simple.

【...That answer kind of scares me.】

Robert showed a satisfied smile, lifted his whiskey, and drank. Mother-in-law had retreated to the kitchen, knife hitting the cutting board in a cheerful rhythm. Jessica sat there watching me walk toward the hallway, back straight, steps unhurried.

She thought I was going to pack.

【Go to the study! Apache Obsidian! That's your only key to turning this around—a spatial artifact that can store items in alternate space and enable point-to-point teleportation. The manual is in the tin box directly under the stone! Carlos's advance vehicle is already on Route 58! You've got about forty minutes!】

At the end of the hallway, a line of yellow light leaked through the study door crack.

I didn't look back.

Forty minutes. Enough.