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."