My ten-year marriage to Jordan was over. I went back to our old college campus to dig up the time capsule we buried, ready to erase every memory of the man who broke me.

But inside, an old Nokia phone suddenly rang. The voice on the other end was bright, hopeful, and unmistakably my own from ten years ago.

"Are we married to Jordan? Are we happy?" she chirped.

I had to tell her the brutal truth. "We're getting divorced."

I told her how he cheated with his assistant, Bristol. I told her how, in the car crash that cost us our baby, his first instinct was to shield her, not his pregnant wife.

Her heartbroken sobs echoed the pain I no longer had the strength to feel. The final humiliation came when he forced me to apologize to Bristol after she faked a suicide attempt on a cliff.

He chose her, again and again, destroying the woman I used to be.

"I won't marry him," my past self finally said, her voice firm through the phone. "I'm taking the scholarship to London."

As she made the choice that would erase my entire life with him, my vision faded to black.

Chapter 1

Casey POV

Divorce papers lay on the kitchen counter, heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and a love that had turned to ash. My finger traced the crisp lines of Jordan Clark's signature, a bold, confident flourish that once thrilled me. Now, it just felt like a pronouncement of death. My decision was final. I watched the early morning light filter through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, much like the remnants of my life. I had to end it. I had to stop the pain.

I grabbed a small, worn shovel from the garage. The cool metal felt grounding in my hand. My car hummed to life, carrying me away from the empty house and the memories that choked me. I drove towards our old college campus, a place brimming with ghosts of a happier past. The old oak tree stood tall, its branches reaching like gnarled fingers towards the sky. Jordan and I had carved our initials into its bark a decade ago. Freshmen in love, naive and full of promises.

We buried a time capsule beneath this tree. Jordan had insisted. He said it was a testament to our eternal love, a promise we would unearth it on our silver anniversary. I remembered the warmth of his hand in mine, the eager light in his eyes. He talked about our future, our children, our golden years. My heart ached then, a phantom pain for a future that would never exist. Jordan's words were a distant echo. They were empty.

The shovel hit something solid. I dug faster, the soil crumbling away. A small, tarnished metal box emerged, cold and heavy. I brushed off the dirt, my fingers trembling slightly. This box held the relics of a life I no longer wanted.

I pried open the lid. Inside, faded photographs showed our smiling faces, arms wrapped around each other. Crinkled love letters, written in Jordan's confident hand, spoke of devotion and an unwavering future. I pulled out a handful of intricately folded paper stars, each one a wish I had made for us. They felt frail, insignificant now.

Then, my fingers closed around an old Nokia phone, a relic from a simpler time. Jordan and I bought matching ones in our freshman year. We spent hours on them, texting silly messages, planning our days, sharing secrets. It was our lifeline. I remembered him saying, "This phone will connect us, no matter where we are." The irony stung.

I held the phone in my palm, its weight familiar. I planned to throw it away, toss it into the river, sever all ties to the past. This phone represented a past I desperately needed to erase.

Suddenly, the phone vibrated, an old-fashioned buzz that startled me. It rattled in my hand, then the screen flickered to life, displaying an incoming call. The number was unknown. My breath caught. I stared, frozen, for a long moment. No one used these phones anymore. This was impossible.

My thumb moved on its own, answering the call. The line crackled.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" A voice, bright and full of youthful energy, filled my ear. It was undeniably my own voice. Younger. Hopeful.

"Who is this?" I managed, my voice hoarse.

"It's Casey! From the past! Is this future Casey? Oh my god, it worked! Jordan said it would!" Young Casey shrieked with excitement. "Are you really me? Tell me something only I would know!"

"My favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip," I said, the words tasting like ash.

"Oh my god, it IS you!" Young Casey laughed, a clear, joyful sound that twisted my gut. "This is amazing! I can't believe it! We're talking to ourselves!" Her voice bubbled with questions. "Are we married to Jordan? Do we have kids? Are we happy? Tell me everything!"

Each question was a stab. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. How could I tell her? How could I shatter that beautiful, naive hope? My throat felt constricted.

"Future me? Why aren't you answering? Are you crying? Oh no, did something bad happen?" Young Casey's voice softened, laced with concern.

I closed my eyes. The truth pushed its way out, raw and brutal.

"We're getting divorced," I said, the words flat and lifeless.

A shocked silence fell on the other end. Young Casey's joyful chatter died. A small gasp escaped her lips.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's not true. You're lying. Jordan loves me. He would never..."

"He did," I cut her off, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "He did."

"But... but why?" she pleaded, her voice cracking. "What happened?"

"Listen to me, past self," I said, ignoring her question. I needed to act. This was my chance. "Tomorrow, after the college entrance exam, Jordan will propose to you under the Ferris wheel. He will tell you he loves you. He will promise you forever."

"He will?" Her voice was a fragile whisper, a flicker of hope amidst the shock.

"He will," I confirmed. "But you cannot accept. You must not. Remember that scholarship offer you got for architecture school in London? Accept it. Go to London. Please, just don't say yes to Jordan." I begged, my voice cracking. "Don't marry him." My desperation was a physical ache.

I had no idea if this call was real or a hallucination born from a decade of pain. But if there was even the smallest chance that somewhere, somewhen, a younger version of me could be spared this hell-I had to try.

Casey POV

A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Young Casey's silence was a stark contrast to her earlier excitement. I could almost hear her young mind reeling, trying to reconcile her bright future with my bleak reality. The silence became almost unbearable.

Finally, her voice returned, thick with unshed tears. "You're lying," she choked out. "You have to be. Jordan would never hurt me. He saved my life once. He stood up to those guys who tried to hurt me. He protected me."

I sat on the cold ground beneath the oak tree, clutching the Nokia phone. My throat was dry, my eyes burned. Young Casey's unwavering faith in Jordan was a painful echo of my own. I remembered that night clearly. It was the winter break of our freshman year. We were walking back from a party, a little tipsy, laughing. Three older guys, clearly drunk, cornered us in an alley. They were aggressive, their words slurred and menacing. Panic seized me. I felt small and helpless.

Jordan stepped in front of me without hesitation. He didn't think twice. "Leave her alone," he commanded, his voice surprisingly firm. They just laughed. One of them lunged at him. Jordan fought them, a wild, desperate energy fueling him. He was smaller than them, but he didn't back down. He took punches, but he never let them get to me. He got a nasty scar above his left eye that night, a permanent reminder of his bravery. I thought he was my hero. I thought he would always protect me.

"He was different back then," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The memory felt distant, like a scene from a movie. "People change. Love changes."

"No," young Casey insisted, her voice rising in a desperate plea. "He wouldn't. He couldn't."

"He did worse," I said, the words heavy. "He didn't just hurt me with words. He hurt me physically too. He pushed me once, during an argument about another woman." The memory flashed, sharp and sickening. The sting of his hand, the shock of betrayal. It was the first crack in our foundation, a moment I tried to rationalize, to forgive.

"No!" Young Casey screamed, a raw sound of denial. "You're trying to trick me! You're not me! You're someone else, trying to ruin my life!"

I pulled one of Jordan's old love letters from the box. The ink was faded, but the words were clear: "My dearest Casey, I promise you forever. I will protect you always. You are my world." I traced the words with my thumb. "I wish I were lying," I whispered, not just to her, but to myself. "I wish this were a trick. But it's not. This is real." The truth was a blunt instrument, crushing hope.

"But you don't have to take my word for it," I said, my voice steadier now. "I'm going to tell you everything. Every betrayal. Every broken promise. And when I'm done, you can decide for yourself whether the man I married is the same one you think you love."

Casey POV

"But... but what about our children?" Young Casey's voice was softer now, filled with a fragile hope. "We always talked about having two kids, a boy and a girl. Did we have them? Are they healthy?"

My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, a place that felt hollow now. A phantom ache radiated through me, a memory of a pain too deep for tears. My gaze turned distant, fixed on the empty space ahead.

"We had one," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I heard young Casey gasp, a sound of pure joy. I quickly cut her off. "It's gone. We lost it."

The silence returned, heavier this time.

"When?" she finally asked, her voice trembling. "How?"

"Four months ago," I replied. The memory unspooled, cold and clear. "Jordan, his young associate, Bristol Sims, and I were coming back from a business trip. We were on the highway. A truck veered into our lane."

I remembered the screech of tires, the sudden lurch. My hands flew to my stomach, a primal instinct to protect the life growing inside me. In the chaos, I saw Jordan. My husband. His arm shot out, not towards me, not towards his pregnant wife, but towards Bristol. He shielded her. His body instinctively moved to protect her.

The impact was brutal. A searing pain ripped through my lower body. A wave of nausea, then a dizzying, sickening twist. I knew then. I just knew.

"I lost the baby," I said, the words coming out without a tremor. My voice was calm, almost detached. There was no fresh pain, only the dull ache of a wound that had festered for too long. My emotions had run dry months ago. I had cried so many times over the years, for so many betrayals, that there were simply no tears left. Each heartbreak was a slow, agonizing death of a thousand cuts, until I was just numb. I was too tired to feel it anymore.

On the other end, young Casey broke down, a raw, guttural cry tearing through the phone. Her sobs were loud, unrestrained, full of the grief I no longer had the strength to feel. I envied her. She could still cry. She could still feel that sharp, acute pain. For me, it was just an empty space where my heart used to be.

"Our baby," she wailed, "our little boy... we picked out names! He was going to be so loved!"

I stared at the ground, my eyes unfocused. "He chose her," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "In that moment, he chose Bristol. He shielded her body. He protected her." I finally looked up, my eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "He loved her."

The phone went silent again, but this time, it was different. It was the silence of disbelief, of a world shattering.

"That was the day I stopped loving him," I said quietly. "And the day I realized I had been dead inside for years. I just hadn't noticed the funeral."