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.

My chest tightened. Something was off—I could feel it. I took off running for the bar.

Nina's voice looped in my head: "Then tell me—how exactly do I hurt him in the future?"

Right before I got there, I clenched my jaw, unlocked my phone, and called 18-year-old Nina.

'Nina, you better listen up. Thirty-year-old you wrecked everything.'

The second I stepped inside, I saw her. Nina was straight-up brawling with another woman.

Total chaos—chairs flipped, tables sideways, glass everywhere.

I was about to jump in when Nina's secretary, Poppy, grabbed my arm.

"Mr. Lambert, please—don't. You could get hurt."

I frowned. "This isn't like her. What happened?"

She looked down, sighing. "Some women were all over Ray. Ms. Reid snapped and started swinging—"

Poppy froze, shot me a glance, then scrambled, "I-I mean, I was just rambling. Don't take it the wrong way."

I didn't answer. My eyes were already locked on Nina.

And then my stomach dropped.

Sasha—my six-year-old—had somehow wandered into the fight.

Tiny fists up, she yelled, "I'll beat you up! Stop bullying Mr. Chapman!"

The woman snapped, grabbed a bottle, and raised it.

"No!"

I didn't think—I just moved. Dove forward, yanked Sasha into my arms—

The bottle smashed against my back.

Glass everywhere.

Warm blood soaked through my shirt in seconds. Every twitch sent pain knifing down my spine.

I couldn't hold back a groan.

Then someone in the crowd yelled, "Ray passed out!"

"What?" Nina didn't blink. She shoved the woman aside and bolted toward the noise like I wasn't even there.

"Ray? Ray, wake up!"

He was flat on the floor, not moving.

Someone nearby said, "He tried grabbing the kid. Might've caught a shard."

Nina looked freaked. She called for help and took off with a group, clutching Ray.

Sasha stared up at me, eyes huge. "Daddy, are you here to take me home?"

But before I could answer, she slipped out of my arms.

She took off after Nina, yelling, "Mom, wait! I wanna help take care of Mr. Chapman too!"

I stood there, bleeding and pale, watching them walk away—mother and daughter, side by side.

For a second, I'd hoped maybe Nina and Sasha still cared. Just a little.

But nah.

That hit harder than the bottle.

She might not be my wife much longer, but after everything—we were just strangers now. Not even a flicker left.