Back to the 70s Ditching the Doctor for Him

The Edwards family wasn’t poor—just tragically short on people.

By this generation, only Edward remained.

And that Edward, rumor had it, was… impotent.

A month ago, his mother Janet had put the word out: any girl willing to marry her son would receive a thousand dollars as bride price—a fortune in their village.

Wayne and Elizabeth, Reese’s aunt and uncle, were the first to bite.

They took half the money upfront, already counting the days until they could ship her off.

But on the day of the formal meeting, Reese had pressed a pair of scissors to her own throat, refusing point-blank to even see the Edwards family.

In the end, it was Edward who stepped back, preventing the whole ugly scene from escalating.

Now, less than a month later, the same girl who’d fought tooth and nail not to marry him was dragging her sick body to his doorstep.

Reese knew how badly she’d behaved last time.

She braced herself for resentment, for hurdles.

But Janet only looked at her with detached calm.

“I know what happened,” she said. “You’re willing to marry my son, on the condition we pay for your treatment. So tell me—how do I know you won’t run the moment you’re well?”

Her gaze sharpened with suspicion. After all, Reese had proven herself unreliable before.

Reese clenched her fists, then forced them open. “You have my word,” she said, voice firm. “I’m not ungrateful. Save me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life looking after Edward.”

Janet studied her for a long, silent moment, her expression giving nothing away.

It was Edward who broke the stalemate, emerging from the inner room.

He held out an envelope. “Take this,” he said, his voice low. “Get well first. We’ll talk after.”

His fingers brushed hers as he passed it over—cool to the touch, yet the contact sent a shock like touching something hot, followed by a wave of warmth.

He was generous. Two hundred dollars—twenty of the new ten-dollar bills, more money than she’d ever held at once.

She stared at the cash, then up at him, stunned. “You—”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Medicine first,” he said. “My fiancée.”

Her ears burned. Mumbling her thanks, head bowed, she hurried away.

---

Reese remembered most of the prescriptions Logan had given her in her past life.

One particular herb was only available from a local, old-school herbalist.

She rushed over, arriving just as he was packing up the last bundle.

“Lucky timing, girl,” the old man, Louis, said with a chuckle. “The season’s over for this stuff. Miss this batch, you’d be waiting till next year.”

He held the paper-wrapped herbs out to her.

Reese reached for it—but a hand shot out from the side and snatched it away.

“Cousin, is this the one that can cure Blackie?” Mary asked, clutching the packet as she turned to Logan.

Logan glanced at Reese, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Perfect!” Mary’s eyes lit up. “Mister, we’ll take it.”

Louis pointed at Reese. “This young lady was here first.”

Mary put on a sweet smile. “Please, I need this for my dog. Could you let me have it?”

Reese almost laughed. “I need it to save my life. And I *was* here first.”

“Go buy it somewhere else,” Mary said, hugging the herbs to her chest as if guarding against a thief.

Louis chimed in, “That herb only grows in the valley behind our mountain. Growing season’s long gone. This is the last of it. Using it on a dog… well, it’d be a shame when this girl needs it to live.”

Mary threw herself against Logan. “Cousin, Blackie is suffering so much.”

Logan looked at Reese, his expression cold. “I’ll give you twenty dollars for it. Hand over the medicine.”

A sharp, fine pain prickled in Reese’s chest. Her face paled. “I don’t want your money. There’s an order to things. First come, first served.”

Logan’s brow furrowed with displeasure. “I can prescribe you something with a similar effect.”

He knew perfectly well this herb was the only thing that could cure her root condition—yet he lied straight to her face.

A suffocating pressure filled her chest. Reese shook her head. “I want this one.”

Impatience flashed in Logan’s eyes. He was about to offer Louis more money when an old acquaintance walked in and called him over to the door.

Seizing the chance, Reese quickly pulled out thirty dollars. “Sir, I’m buying it.”

Louis sighed, gesturing helplessly at Mary. “Young lady, just let her have it.”

Mary pouted, the very picture of wounded innocence, and slowly held the packet out.

But as Reese reached for it, Mary suddenly grabbed her wrist, leaning in to whisper, venom in her tone:

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. That day by the old re-education shed—you came chasing after my cousin on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Take a look at yourself in the mirror. How dare you?”

“Today, I’ll show you what wishful thinking really means.”

She let go with a sharp jerk and let out a theatrical cry, throwing herself backwards onto the floor.

Her forceful shove sent the already-weak Reese stumbling and crashing down.

A dull *thud*.

Reese’s forehead struck the leg of a table.

Warm liquid blurred her vision.

Through the haze, she saw Logan running over.

He helped Mary up, then turned and strode toward Reese.

Her heart began to pound against her ribs.

Was he coming to check on her? To see how badly she was hurt?

Against all reason, a sliver of hope bloomed.

Even if he didn’t love her, they *had* shared a bed once.

She was bleeding so much. Surely he couldn’t be that cruel?

But he was crueler than she could have imagined.

Logan stepped right over her, bent down, picked up the fallen packet of herbs, tucked it under his arm, and walked out, supporting Mary.

From start to finish, he acted as if Reese wasn’t even there.

And in that moment, with the blood trickling into her eye, Reese finally knew for certain:

Every moment of her life spent by his side, in that other lifetime, had been nothing but wasted effort.