On our wedding anniversary, at the revolving restaurant in the Space Needle, Jasper Crawford ditched me again for his “one true love.”

I told the system, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired.”

The home I’d designed for him would remain forever unfinished—just like the space in his heart I could never seem to fill.

The system told me that if I died in this world, I could escape the mission and return to my original world.

The first time, I stood on the balcony of our unfinished penthouse apartment, ready to leap. Jasper saved me, only to accuse me of doing it all for attention.

The second time, I washed down half a bottle of antidepressants with the whiskey he’d bought me. He’d burst in at the last second, clutching me and sobbing that he knew he’d been wrong.

There’s always a third time, a fourth, and a fifth, isn’t there?

————————

1

Today was our third wedding anniversary, and in a rare show of affection, Jasper had booked a table at the Space Needle’s restaurant.

Just as I was about to make a wish over the glittering Seattle nightscape, his phone buzzed.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he murmured, a trace of the warmth from our earlier flirtation still lingering in his smile.

I nodded, watching him answer. “Hello?”

Hailey Ford’s shrill voice blasted from the phone, choked with tears. "Jasper! Scarlett's PTSD is flaring up! She's… she's locked herself in the bathroom, and she's completely losing it!"

A faint crackle of static followed, then Scarlett Lockwood’s broken sobs. "Jasp, are you with her? You haven't forgotten about me, have you?"

Her voice was so fragile it sounded as if it might shatter. "I knew it. I knew she would..."

The color drained from Jasper’s face. "Scarlett, calm down! I'm on my way—"

Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist. "Jasper, Scarlett has a 24-hour private nurse. Her security—"

Hailey’s voice rose to a shriek. "Is that Genevieve Hayes with you? Is she stopping you? Scarlett is dying, Jasper, and you’re letting that woman get in the way?"

"That's enough, Hailey," Jasper cut in, his voice sharp with irritation before turning back to me. "Scarlett's in real danger."

"Please, just try to understand," he said, his tone softening as he reached for my cheek. "I'll be back before you know it."

I turned away, avoiding his touch. His fingertips smelled of another woman's perfume.

Hailey’s scream ripped through the phone again. "Hurry, Jasper! Scarlett said if you don't come right now, she'll—"

Jasper’s eyes went red. "Genevieve, we can celebrate our anniversary another day. Scarlett needs me. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear, I'll spend all my time with you after this."

A cold laugh escaped me. "You said that last time. And the time before that."

"I mean it this time." He gripped my shoulders, his eyes already darting toward the exit. "I swear, once Scarlett's condition—"

Before he could finish, Hailey shrieked through the phone. "You selfish bitch, Genevieve! Do you have to torment a sick woman at a time like this?"

Her words were followed by a series of sharp, gasping breaths from Scarlett. "Jasp, I… I can’t breathe…"

"Scarlett! Scarlett, hang in there!" Jasper yelled into the phone, his usual composure shattered.

A heart-wrenching scream tore through the line, followed by the sickening crash of something heavy hitting the floor.

Hailey cried out, "Scarlett fainted! She hit her head! You have to come now!"

"Jasp… save me…" Scarlett’s voice faded to a whisper.

Jasper took a deep breath. "Wait for me at home, alright? I'll be back as soon as I can."

The door slammed shut. I heard myself say, "If you walk out that door, we're done."

My only response was the distant ding of the arriving elevator.

I stared at the untouched, exquisite meal and said to the system, "System, I give up."

There was a time when breaking a promise would have left Jasper riddled with guilt for a whole night. He would have rushed home just to tell me he was sorry.

When had keeping his promises become such a chore?

Everything changed the moment Scarlett returned to Seattle. She began to insert herself into every corner of Jasper's life.

My insecurity flared, sparking arguments with Jasper. My anxiety spiraled, and Scarlett deliberately provoked me at every turn.

I had been battling depression for a long time, yet she seemed to delight in twisting the knife. She knew I was sick, and it only made her torment more relentless.

On a private social media account, she posted a photo of herself in Jasper’s college sweatshirt, lounging on the bed in our room. The caption read: "Some things are just meant to be. After all the twists and turns, they find their way back to their rightful owner."

Her words were poisoned daggers, each one twisting in my heart.

When I told Jasper about my depression, he accused me of being jealous and unreasonable.

When I broke down and smashed things, he called me emotionally unstable.

When the pain kept me awake at night, he said I was just overthinking.

...

By the time I climbed onto the railing, I was numb, unable to tell if I was dead or alive.

I stood on the balcony of our unfinished penthouse, letting the high-rise wind whip my dress around my legs. My phone was still lit up with Scarlett's latest post.

She was showing off a new tattoo on her shoulder blade—the very design meant to be a matching set for Jasper and me.

I gazed at the city lights in the distance until they blurred into a single, mocking sneer.

Dozens of floors stretched below, and the wind howled in my ears like a thousand screaming voices.

Strangely, I felt no fear. Only a profound sense of release.

My phone vibrated again.

I forced my eyes to the notification. Scarlett had sent a picture: Jasper, gently kissing her new tattoo.

The text read, "He said this design is only sexy on me."

My fingers twitched. The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering as it plummeted into the abyss.

A construction foreman heard the sound and looked up. His face contorted in terror when he saw me.

Just as my consciousness began to fray, the construction door was kicked open. When Jasper burst through, his eyes widened in horror.

There, on the dimly lit rooftop, my frail figure teetered on the edge, looking as if the wind could sweep me away at any moment.

He stumbled, his knees crashing hard onto the sandy, gravel-strewn ground, but he paid it no mind. He called my name, his voice a raw, trembling thing.

"Genevieve… come down! Look at me!" he shouted hoarsely. "Call 911!" he roared at the doorway, but he crawled toward me, his movements agonizingly slow, as if he were afraid one wrong move would shatter me.

The moment I was pulled to safety, he scrambled over and crushed me in an embrace so tight I thought my bones would splinter.

"Hold on, Genevieve. I'm begging you. I can't live without you," he pleaded. I could smell a perfume on him, and it wasn't mine.

In the hospital, Jasper sat by my bed, his fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the medical chart.

"Genevieve, stop," he said, his tone so calm it was chilling. "Is this how you're going to get my attention now? Are you trying to threaten me?"

I stared at him. He was frowning, his expression a mirror of a parent scolding a misbehaving child.

"Scarlett's situation is different," he continued. "After the car accident, she developed severe PTSD. I became the only person she trusts. We grew up together. Her family is abroad, they're barely around, so she's always relied on me."

He paused, his gaze falling on my vacant eyes. "Now, she doesn't recognize anyone but me. After the accident, I'm the only one who makes her feel safe..."

Jasper’s fingers toyed with my IV line, his eyes drifting toward the window. "Her psychologist said she’s like this because of an extreme lack of security."

He turned back to me, his brow furrowed. I met his gaze, noting the weariness and helplessness etched on his face.

"It's not like that between us." A hint of urgency crept into his voice. "She's like a sister to me. You get that, right? Besides, you know what her condition is like."

His gaze turned cold. "You know she's sick, so why do you keep holding it against her?"

He sighed. "Don't do this, alright? You're my wife. Nothing is going to change that."

Jasper gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, then snatched his hand back. "Once Scarlett's condition stabilizes, I'll make it up to you. We'll go to Italy, see those ancient buildings you love. Okay?"

I watched his eyes flicker away. The telltale sign of a lie.

"Right now..." he lowered his voice, "can you just… try to understand?"

His eyes were pleading. "Scarlett really needs me. This is just temporary, okay?"

I listened to his so-called explanation in silence, then turned my head to stare blankly at the ceiling.

The words seemed to come from far away, muffled, yet they drilled into my ears, impossible to ignore.

I managed a soft "Mm-hmm," my voice raspy and bitter, not my own.

The numbness of severe depression had stolen even the strength to argue.

He wanted me to wait. He said he’d make it up to me. He hoped I’d understand.

His words were feathers, too light to cause a ripple in my dead heart.

I watched Jasper glance at his phone again and again, inching toward the door.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Hilarious. For three years, he’d fed me the same lines, and for three years, I’d swallowed every one.

"Go on," I said, my own calmness surprising me.

The relief that flooded his face was a fresh sting on my numb nerves. He rushed back to my side, reaching to stroke my hair.

I flinched away.

"You..." He froze, then offered a helpless smile. "Don't be difficult, okay? I'll be back soon."

I watched him turn and leave, his voice softening as he answered his phone. In that moment, I knew. My heart was already dead.

Killed by Jasper's repeated choices, by Scarlett's taunts, and by my own foolish hope.

The door clicked shut, locking us in two separate worlds forever. I slowly closed my eyes, letting the darkness consume the last flicker of light.