I Saw My Future And Chose To Walk Away

On the night my boyfriend Griffin and I were celebrating our one-year anniversary, we got into a car accident on a mountain road in Austin.

I was suddenly thrown ten years into the future.

There, I saw myself married to Griffin with a child—the future I had once dreamed of.

But my future self had given up her music, ground down by a cold marriage and drowning in postpartum depression.

In the end, I watched as she perched on the edge of a penthouse balcony.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Griffin's panicked face…

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1

Everyone said Griffin Prescott and I were the perfect couple.

He loved me fiercely, unapologetically.

In my chaotic life, meeting Griffin was the last thing I ever expected.

That day, I’d just finished a gig on Sixth Street. With my guitar slung over my back, I was heading to my apartment when a group of thugs cornered me in an alley.

Just as I was about to let my fists do the talking, Griffin showed up.

He was wearing a neatly pressed Polo shirt and clutching his phone. His face was flushed as he appeared at the mouth of the alley.

Even now, I can still picture the slight tremor in the hand he braced against the wall. I could even see the beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

He shouted, "I've already called the cops! You'd better scram!"

A rich kid's solution is his phone.

Mine is my fists.

That’s what my drunk of a father taught me.

Honestly, if Griffin hadn't grabbed my sleeve that night to ask for my name, our paths might never have crossed again.

"Wren Hayes," I told him.

His life was a world away from mine.

After that, I started running into Griffin everywhere.

He’d appear at the bar where I performed, the food truck downstairs, and the cheap diner I frequented.

Griffin used the clumsiest tactics to get my attention. He couldn't even work up the courage to ask for my number.

This went on for four months. Then, one stormy night, my gig was canceled because of the weather.

As I smoked by the window, I happened to spot a guy downstairs, drenched to the skin.

It looked like Griffin.

I don't know what came over me, but I went downstairs.

Sure enough, it was him.

He stood in the downpour, his hair and clothes plastered to his skin, looking utterly pathetic.

But when he saw me, his puppy-dog eyes lit up.

And just like that, I started dating Griffin.

He was an honor student at UT Austin's business school; I was a high school dropout, a singer-songwriter playing in a bar.

No one thought we’d last.

But time and again, Griffin stood firmly by my side.

He once told me he would do anything I asked, even watch the sunrise with me from a mountaintop if I wanted.

When he said that, we were standing on a mountain. He gazed at me, his eyes brighter than all the stars in the sky.

I truly believed Griffin and I would take on this god-awful world, hand in hand, forever.

On our one-year anniversary, we planned to watch the sunrise from that same mountain.

When the truck came hurtling toward us, Griffin didn't hesitate to throw his body over mine.

In an instant, my world flipped.

The crunch of metal and the shatter of glass blended into a single, deafening sound.

A crushing weight settled over me, and Griffin’s blood dripped into my eyes.

"Thank God you're okay, Wren…"

That was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

I don't know how many people in this world would sacrifice their life for love.

But Griffin did.