The moment I found out about Todd, I couldn’t stomach the betrayal. I demanded a divorce on the spot. Lyne locked herself in the study and cried for half the day. When she finally emerged, her eyes were red, wearing an expression of pure, unearned victimhood. “Todd doesn’t believe in marriage,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “He won’t affect our life together. Why can’t we just keep things as they are?” The sheer audacity of it left me speechless. I swept the documents off the desk, sending them scattering across the floor. She bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears, yet her voice carried a stubborn edge. “We’re adults, Roy. It’s just a physical thing, a casual distraction. What’s the big deal? Can you stop making a scene?” With that, she slammed the door and walked out. That very night, I somehow connected with myself from ten years in the future. On the video screen, he looked hollowed out. Dark circles bruised the skin under his deeply sunken eyes. “Roy,” he said, his voice raspy. “I already walked the path of divorcing her the second she strayed. I tried it so you wouldn’t have to.” He paused, staring at me with a heavy, haunted gaze. “Take it from me. Pride goes before a fall. Love isn’t everything. Don’t worry about loving someone; learn how to use them.” “You can divorce her, but absolutely not right now.” 1 The man on the screen shared my exact face, but he was so withered and worn that I barely recognized him. Staring at him, my throat tightened. I had always been stubborn and unyielding. The day I confronted Lyne, my mind held only one conviction: you get married to live a better life, and you get divorced for the exact same reason. There was nothing to hesitate about. When things go wrong, you cut your losses. I was never a man to drag his feet. But the face on the screen carved a different reality into every deep wrinkle: I did not end up okay. I took a deep breath, forcing down the panic, and asked the one question that mattered most to me right now. “What about Toby? Did he make it into the Pratt Institute?” An expression of quiet agony crossed his face. He shook his head slowly. “He stopped painting.” I froze. Toby was only seven years old, but his talent was already undeniable. His art tutor had told us flat-out that the boy was a rare prodigy. Every day after school, the first thing Toby did was rush to his easel. We had to drag him away just to get him to eat dinner. My son’s dream was to become a painter. He used to tell me he would hold an exhibition at the Louvre one day just for me. There was no reason for him to stop. Looking at my stunned expression, my future self didn’t offer any empty comfort. He simply asked, “How much are you paying for his private tutoring right now?” “A hundred dollars an hour.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Think about it. That’s ten thousand a year just for the basics. High-end portfolio prep, prep-school consulting, that’s a whole different league of expenses. And my salary as a lab researcher, even ten years from now, is barely forty-five thousand a year after taxes.” I didn’t need him to do the math. I knew the numbers. But another wave of confusion hit me, and I blurted out, “What about Lyne? Toby is her son too. Did she really just abandon him?” 2 He shook his head, a bitter smile deepening the lines around his mouth. “When we divorced, Todd was terrified we’d stay in touch. He forced Lyne to pay off all her child support in one lump sum to cut ties completely.” “Later, whenever Lyne tried to visit Toby, Todd would tag along, standing down on the street shouting insults at our window. I didn’t want Toby to hear that garbage, so I stopped letting her come.” He paused, his voice cracking slightly. “Eventually, they had a daughter of their own. By the fourth year after the divorce, Toby stopped seeing his mother entirely.” I remained silent, feeling as though a lead weight had settled on my chest. “I was the one who insisted on the divorce back then,” he continued. “Lyne didn’t want to make it easy, so she dragged her feet on the assets. I was so desperate to escape that I settled for nothing but this house. I tried my best to keep Toby in art school, fighting tooth and nail until he turned fourteen.” “And then?” My throat felt incredibly dry. “Then I had to sell the house. The market had tanked, and I took a massive loss.” My heart squeezed. “The money from the sale… was it for Toby’s tuition?” His eyes grew red. “Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.” I went entirely numb. Right now, my father was in perfect health, spending every morning practicing tai chi in the park. “It happened three years ago,” my future self said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “He knew how hard it was for me to raise Toby alone while keeping up with work. He hid his symptoms because he didn’t want to be a burden. By the time we found out, it had already metastasized.” My throat felt completely blocked. It took everything I had to squeeze out a few words. “And Dad… how is he now?” “He passed away over a year ago.” My breath hitched. “The night Toby found out his grandfather was sick,” he whispered, “he packed his brushes back into his wooden case. He told me he didn’t want to paint anymore, that we needed to save the money for Grandpa’s treatment. No matter how much I begged, he just shook his head. He never touched a brush again.” So, in the eight years following my hasty divorce, my son’s dream was shattered, and my father passed away. My heart felt as if it were being crushed by a cold, heavy hand. 3 Before I could speak, the screen flickered violently, and the signal cut out. A few seconds later, an unknown number popped up on my screen, auto-playing a video. The moment the screen lit up, Todd’s face filled the frame without warning. He was leaning back against Lyne’s shoulder, his shirt collar slightly open, his sharp jawline set in a smug, effortless grin. Lyne stood close to him, her shoulder resting against his chest. Her face carried a look of pure, relaxed ease that I hadn’t seen on her in years. “Your husband really fits the stereotype of a boring academic,” Todd said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Stiff, dull, completely rigid. Is he seriously trying to divorce you over this?” Lyne let out a soft, lazy hum in agreement. Todd chuckled softly. “What are we going to do then? I have zero intention of ever getting married, and I’m strictly child-free. I can’t stand the handcuffs of a traditional family. I’m only here for the romance, babe. I don’t do domestic bliss.” He lightly traced the back of Lyne’s hand with his fingers. “Looks like some poor guy is about to lose his wife and kid all because of me.” Before he could finish, Lyne leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply. The video paused on that exact frame. I stared at the screen, a wave of intense nausea hitting me so hard I nearly threw up on the spot. After the screen went black, I sat in the dark room for a very long time. Once I gathered my thoughts, the first thing I did was call a contact to dig into Todd’s background. The information came back quickly. He was three years older than me, working as a pharmaceutical sales manager for one of Lyne’s company’s main vendors. He had been in the industry for a decade, consistently ranking as the top salesman. He was notorious for being ruthless and highly competitive. His favorite phrase to throw around was: “I’ve got money and capability. Why the hell would I drag myself down with a marriage?” Around his office, they called him the “lone wolf with claws.” Many of the younger employees looked up to him, praising him for living a life free from conventional chains. I knew with absolute certainty that he had sent me that video on purpose. Even if he had no intention of marrying Lyne, he still wanted the satisfaction of completely breaking the husband he looked down upon. 4 The next time I connected with my future self, I bypassed the pleasantries and went straight to the point. “You said they had a daughter? I thought Todd was strictly child-free and against marriage.” My future self let out a mocking laugh. “The year Lyne and I divorced, Todd was thirty-three. That anti-marriage philosophy of his lasted exactly two more years.” “Once he hit thirty-five, the age anxiety kicked in. He realized he’d had his fun, but suddenly he craved the warmth of a family. He turned around, dragged Lyne to the courthouse, and they had a daughter the very next year.” My mouth opened, but no words came out. Suddenly, the sound of light footsteps came from his end of the screen. A tall, thin teenager leaned into the frame. He had clean, short hair, and his eyes still carried a trace of Toby’s childhood innocence, though his quiet demeanor seemed far too mature for a seventeen-year-old. “Dad,” the boy said softly, “I warmed up some milk for you.” “Just leave it on the desk, buddy,” the future me replied, his voice softening instantly. Then he added, “By the way, why didn’t you tell me about the school’s summer camp?” Toby looked down, his eyes quiet and polite. “I don’t really want to go, Dad. I’d rather stay home and keep you company.” With that, he slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Staring at the empty doorway, a sudden rush of grief hit me, and tears finally spilled over. The future me tapped his screen, sending over a few screenshots. “See for yourself.” In the photos, Lyne and Todd were holding hands with a little girl, standing under the green ribbons of the Northern Lights in Norway. The little girl, wrapped in a thick down jacket, sat on Lyne’s shoulders, laughing with her mouth wide open. The caption read: Successful whale-watching trip with our baby girl. The Arctic Circle is even more romantic than we dreamed. The next few photos showed a helicopter ride over a massive glacier, glasses of champagne on a luxury yacht, and Todd wearing sunglasses, flashing a peace sign at the camera. “Lyne eventually started her own business, rode the industry wave, and made a fortune,” my future self said, his words cutting deep but carrying the brutal truth. “And look at you. You couldn’t even save your own father, and your son can’t even go to a simple summer camp because he’s trying to save you money.” He stared at me, his eyes burning. “You took all the pain. Why should they get all the joy?” He wasn’t exaggerating. My mother-in-law had passed away from cancer years ago, surviving for about three years after her diagnosis. During that time, Lyne’s career was taking off, which meant I was the one doing ninety percent of the caretaking. I burned the candle at both ends, running lab experiments by day and sleeping on a cot in the hospital ward by night. The night my mother-in-law passed away, I was five months pregnant with our son, managing the funeral arrangements entirely on my own. By the time Lyne finally rushed back, she had missed her mother’s final moments entirely. “Roy, please believe me,” his voice dropped, heavy with a decade of unspeakable regret. “Love doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about loving someone; learn how to use them.” “It took me ten years of blood and tears to understand this.” With tears in my eyes, I nodded slowly. He looked at me, a flicker of relief passing through his tired eyes, satisfied that I had finally taken his words to heart. Then, his image began to blur, the edges bleeding outward like ink on wet paper, fading until the screen went completely black. The account vanished along with him, as if it had never existed. But I knew that from this moment on, everything had changed. I would get a divorce. But absolutely not right now.
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