On our anniversary, Nina Reid took our daughter—and her assistant, Ray Chapman—out for another "family day." Without me.

That was it. I filed for divorce.

Right after signing the papers and boxing up my stuff, I heard a buzz from the corner.

Old phone. Twelve years old. Buried in a drawer.

The screen lit up with a number I almost recognized.

Hand shaking, I picked up.

A voice I hadn't heard in years. Young. Way too familiar.

"Hey, Liam. I need to talk to you."

I just stood there, frozen, staring at the phone.

The girl paused, then said, a little thrown, "Liam? You there?"

That voice—I knew it.

It was Nina. Eighteen.

Memories slammed into me like a wave. Twelve years ago, around this time, Nina called to tell me she was in love.

I forced the panic down. My voice came out dry. "What do you want with Liam?"

She hesitated. "Who is this?"

I dodged it. "You're calling Liam Lambert... planning to confess, right?"

She coughed, surprised. "How do you know that?"

Just like I thought.

I shut my eyes, fighting the sting in my chest. "Don't do it. Twelve years from now, you'll break his heart."

Silence.

Then she fired back, sharp and sure. "No way!"

I could almost see her face—young, stubborn, full of fire.

Back then, she loved hard. She had no clue who she'd become.

I glanced down, ready to say more—but the door swung open.

I hung up fast, shoved the phone in my pocket, played it cool.

Right before the line cut, I swear I heard her mumble, "Whatever. I'll tell him next year instead."

Didn't think twice about it.

The second I hid the phone, Nina stormed in.

Straight to the closet. Digging through drawers like a hurricane.

"Liam, have you seen my gift box? Liam?"

She kept calling my name. I didn't answer—just kept packing.

Then she flung the door open and ran right into me.

She blinked, frowning. "Why are you packing? Where are you going?"

I didn't look at her. Just handed over the divorce papers. "Nina, let's get a divorce."

Her face tightened. "Divorce? Because of Ray? I've told you, there's nothing going on. If there was, I'd have left you already."

Heard it a million times. I was done.

If I hadn't seen her phone by accident, I'd still be clueless. My own wife—messaging Ray nonstop for five years.

At work, they were the dream team. In the cafeteria, always side by side.

Everyone saw it. People in the office group chat even joked Ray was her "real plus-one." She never denied it. Just laughed.

And every time I brought it up? She'd roll her eyes and snap, "It's just a dumb joke. Do you have to be so dramatic?"

Her words hit like a gut punch.

"If you're so into Ray, just sign the papers. Be with him for real."

"Liam Lambert! When did I ever say I liked him?" she snapped, yanking the papers from my hand. "And where do you think you're even going? You're thirty, haven't worked in seven years, totally out of touch. Who's gonna hire you now? How are you gonna survive?"

Cold. Brutal.

Seven years ago, Nina and I were both prepping for interviews at one of the top companies in Avendale.

The day before, I got into a car crash while out grabbing fruit—for her. Shattered my leg. Three months in bed.

She went solo. Nailed it.

When the offer came, she hugged me tight, whispering, "Liam, you got hurt because of me. My job's just starting, and Sasha's still little. Stay home with her. I'll take care of us."

Thinking about it made my chest twist. I wanted to snap back, say something—anything—but the words just died in my throat.

Nina ripped the divorce papers to shreds. That's when her anger finally cooled.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say any of this. Don't bring it up again."

She turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Oh—where's the gift box?"

I kept my eyes down. "Bottom shelf of the closet."

"Got it."

She grabbed the sleek box, then hesitated at the doorway.

"Wait for me at home. I'll be back soon to celebrate our anniversary."

A bitter smile pulled at my lips.

So she had remembered our anniversary.

I'd seen that box yesterday.

Inside was a custom suit from a high-end brand. I'd wanted one for years but never pulled the trigger.

At first, I thought it was for me. My heart actually jumped.

Then I took it out.

Wrong size.

Found the card tucked inside.

[For Ray.]

Guess I'd been fooling myself the whole time.

That moment—more than anything—made me sure.

I wanted the divorce.

Maybe it was that weird call earlier, but I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the old call log—Nina's confession from way back.

Then I saw it.

The date had changed. It wasn't twelve years ago anymore.

It was eleven.

And I remembered what she'd said right before I hung up—"Whatever. I'll tell him next year instead."

My stomach dropped.

Could eighteen-year-old Nina actually mess with the future?

Before I could process it, the phone buzzed again.

I picked up. Nina's voice came through. "Who are you? Why do you have Liam's phone?"

I blurted without thinking, "I'm a god. I can see the future."

She didn't miss a beat. "I'm a materialist. I don't believe in gods or ghosts."

I hesitated.

Then she said, "But I'm curious. Let's hear your predictions. What do you know?"

Maybe if I told her, I could stop it.

I stared at the scar on my hand.

I had to try.

Maybe the past could still be rewritten.

"The day after Liam's birthday, he'll get jumped on his way home. He'll get his hand sliced."

Nina didn't even pause. "Got it. I'll be careful."

Click. She hung up.

I slid the phone back in my pocket. It was already past midnight.

Still no sign of Nina or Sasha.

Usually, I'd be pacing like crazy. But tonight? I just brushed my teeth and crashed.

***

Next morning, the house was dead quiet. They hadn't come back.

I didn't feel much—until I noticed my hand. Smooth. No scar. I froze.

Then it hit me. A whole new set of memories crashed in:

Day after my eighteenth birthday, I was heading home like usual when some guy jumped me, waving a knife around like a psycho. Before he could land a hit, Nina showed up—with cops trailing right behind her. They tackled him in seconds.

The past actually changed.

I laughed, half in shock, half in disbelief, tears rolling before I even noticed.

Then my phone lit up. Young Nina again.

I answered, and she burst out, buzzing with adrenaline. "Thank you. I saved him!"

I didn't miss a beat. "Can you save Liam one more time?"

"What's gonna happen? What do I do?"

"Don't confess. Stay away from him. As far away as you can."

Silence. I could picture her face—confused, suspicious. Then came the question. "Why?"

"Because if you two end up together, you'll wreck him."

She shot back, "No way! I like Liam so much! Today he scraped his wrist and I dragged him all over getting it checked. If he sneezes, I panic. If he's even slightly sick, it kills me.

"That guy with the knife? I was shaking so bad, but I still ran straight at him. I had to. He's everything. How could I ever hurt him?"

As she talked, old memories cracked open—like boxes I'd sealed years ago.

Eighteen-year-old Nina looked at me like I was her entire universe.

The Nina I knew at thirty? Her words cut like ice.

I dropped my gaze and exhaled. "People change."

"Then tell me—how exactly do I hurt him in the future?"

I froze. Fingers stiff. My brain flipped through scenes like a glitching movie reel. Too many. I didn't even know where to start.

Then my phone rang again.

I picked up, and someone on the other end was already spiraling. "Mr. Lambert, our department had a team night at a bar in East Avendale. Ms. Reid drank too much. Can you come get her? Oh—and your kid's here too."

Chaos behind them—crashing, yelling, something getting chucked.