After my fiancé died in a car accident, I locked myself away for two full years. Every day, I stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face, my hair turning gray overnight. Until that day, when I climbed the mountain, forehead bloodied from kneeling and bowing, praying to a higher power. When I opened my eyes again, I had somehow returned to the night two weeks before the accident. I saw Ethan, not far away, laughing and clinking glasses with his friends. Hot tears ran down my cheeks, reminding me this was real. Then, the next second, his mocking words hit me like a slap: “I was only pretending to love her to get her in bed. She’s easy to handle—obedient, doesn’t make a fuss. Why not marry her? And as for other women… she’ll never find out.” 0I froze on the spot, my chest heaving violently. Everything was changing too fast—maybe I misheard? Instinctively, I took a few steps closer to Ethan, trying to confirm. “Rachel’s got no one left in her life. She can’t survive without me. I just have to do the bare minimum, and she’s grateful for days.” “She’s so starved for love, man. I bet if I dumped her, she’d be on her knees begging me to take her back. Don’t you think?” “Exactly. With her family background, me marrying her is already a favor. She should feel lucky.” Snowflakes swirled in the air, falling without purpose. I stood there, helpless, shocked, unable to believe what I was hearing. My hands trembled uncontrollably. The man I had mourned day and night, whose love I had clung to, Every word he spoke now cut into me like shards of ice. I stared at his familiar yet unfamiliar silhouette, my throat tight, unable to make a sound. Ethan, the man who had appeared in my dreams countless times, was right in front of me—yet somehow, he felt farther away than ever. My phone buzzed with a notification. It was a text from Ethan: “Baby, I’m heading home soon. Craving anything? ❤️” That emoji, the one he always sent, now felt like a cruel joke. At this time in the past, I’d have been at home, eagerly waiting for him. Not standing here, hearing the truth spill from his lips. Reality is often a blade wrapped in flowers, while lies are dressed up to look like love. I don’t even remember how I got back home. I collapsed onto the couch, my mind a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling with no resolution. After a while, the door creaked open, and Ethan walked in, carrying takeout in his arms. I looked up at him, unsure what expression to put on, silently watching as he approached. 0
Ethan set the food down, reached out to touch my face, and his expression shifted. He took my hand, blowing warm air onto my cold fingers, his eyes full of concern. “You’ve been cooped up all day again. Your hands are freezing. Did you not drink the ginger tea I made for you at lunch?” I could feel his warm breath on my skin, the strength of his hands. This wasn’t a dream. “Are you… really Ethan?” I asked. He flicked my forehead playfully and chuckled. “We were just in bed together this morning. What, half a day apart, and you don’t recognize me anymore?” I didn’t respond. My eyes studied his face, his features, every line and curve. I searched for something—anything—that set him apart from the Ethan I had loved. But everything was the same, down to the small mole near his temple. Next Friday… would he meet the same fate? After a long silence, I murmured, “I can’t dance anymore.” My voice was soft, almost as if I wasn’t sure who I was saying it to—him or myself. From the moment I woke up in this timeline, I had felt the weight in my legs, the heaviness with every step. Scars ran down my thighs, long and jagged, a price I’d paid for this second chance. Dancing was how Ethan and I had met. He’d fallen in love with me while watching my performance. Every time I saw him in the audience, I thought no one in the world could be happier than me. But now… I couldn’t even stand on tiptoes. Thinking about it, tears welled up in my eyes. I glanced at Ethan, hoping he might hold me, reassure me, help me find my footing again. He wiped my tears with his thumb, his face tightening as if he were worried. Then, he said gently: “If you can’t dance, don’t. Honestly, I never really liked watching you dance anyway. I don’t get the appeal. It’s boring. I’d rather we just spend time together, talking in bed. That’s more meaningful.” “And besides, I love you for who you are. No matter what, I’ll still love you.” Those words landed like nails being hammered into my skull. I couldn’t move. Ethan said he didn’t like watching me dance. A memory from my previous life flashed in my mind—Ethan watching me perform. This time, I finally noticed what I hadn’t before: the impatience in his eyes, the boredom. There had never been love. Only disdain. Only pretense. A phone call interrupted the silence. Ethan said there was an issue with a project at work and that he had to leave. He kissed my forehead before rushing out the door. Maybe he saw how broken I was. Maybe he didn’t care. My gaze drifted to the takeout he’d brought home. It was shrimp. I’m allergic to shrimp. I stared at the box for hours, unable to close my eyes. At 3 a.m., my phone buzzed with another text from Ethan: “Baby, I really love you. Let’s always be together.” 0
A long time ago, on this same night, Ethan brought home shrimp too. Just like tonight, he left again within an hour. Back then, I was always quick to make excuses for him. Maybe he forgot I was allergic. Maybe work was just too demanding. He didn’t have a choice, right? Even the late-night “I love you” text he sent me back then—it’s the same one I got tonight. Back then, I thought it was evidence of his love. Now, I realize it was probably guilt. Guilt for cheating on me, trying to absolve himself after crawling into someone else’s bed. Ethan’s so-called love was always full of cracks. If you looked closely, you’d see the tiny needles hidden in the lies—needles that slowly, relentlessly tore me apart. Suddenly, a thought struck me. I grabbed my phone and opened the location-sharing app Ethan had insisted we use. The moment I saw where he was, my fingers clenched the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The frost-covered grass glistened in the early morning fog. The weak winter sunlight barely kissed the tops of the buildings. I took a cab to the place I had avoided ever since Ethan’s death in my previous life—the house we’d bought together for our future. Our dream home. I tried the door code a few times before realizing the lock had been changed. The house we chose together, the house meant to be ours—yet somehow, it had turned me into an outsider. Time crawled forward like molasses as I pressed the doorbell. “Coming! What, you couldn’t stay away for even an hour? I know you miss me, but…” A soft, feminine voice carried from inside. I should’ve screamed. I should’ve cursed her out. But instead, I just lowered my head and smiled bitterly. The door opened, and there she was—a girl in her early twenties, wearing a set of wrinkled pajamas. She froze when she saw me, her wide eyes filled with shock. Ignoring her, I stepped past and walked into the house. Nothing had changed. Every detail of the house—the placement of the bed, the design of the dishes—was chosen by me and Ethan, back when we were curled up in each other’s arms, dreaming about our future. We’d promised to move in after the wedding. Our wedding photo still hung in the bedroom. And across from it, on the unmade bed, lay Ethan’s shirt from last night. Scattered on the floor were a few discarded condom wrappers. It felt like something had grabbed my heart and was dragging it downward, squeezing it until I couldn’t breathe. So this is where you’ve been every night, Ethan. 0
“When did it start between you two?” I turned and calmly looked at the girl standing by the door. She flinched, her body stiff like a cornered rabbit. She didn’t answer, but the marks on her neck told me everything I needed to know. The truth was out in the open now, and my voice came out dry, cracking slightly: “February 13th. My 26th birthday. June 8th—the night Ethan proposed to me. And New Year’s Eve. He spent all those nights here with you, didn’t he?” “Or was it even earlier than that?” I walked over to the closet and opened it. Inside, Ethan’s clothes hung neatly alongside hers. My dresses, however, were shoved into the far corner, crumpled into a forgotten heap. My hand clenched the edge of the closet door, my knuckles turning pale. “You have two choices: pack your things and leave quietly, or I can call security to throw you out.” Her fists tightened, and she seemed to gather her courage, as if someone had whispered reassurances in her ear. “Ethan said I could stay here,” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. I laughed lightly and grabbed a handful of her clothes, throwing them at her. “Then call him. Let’s ask if his words still mean anything.” Her lips pressed into a tight line as she glared at me, clutching her clothes to her chest. An old memory surfaced, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Your name—Stacey, right? It’s you, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Her quiet confirmation hit me like a punch. I closed my eyes, the pieces falling into place. She left, slamming the door behind her, her frustration palpable. And I? I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. The walls felt toxic, suffocating, and I needed to get out. I stumbled down the street, my legs heavy, until I found myself sitting at a lonely bus stop. A butterfly fluttered by, its blue wings stirring faint memories. When I was a child, my father remarried, and my mother took me with her. Wherever I went to school, that’s where home was—just me and my mom. She was small and frail, and no one wanted to give her a chance to work. But she always smiled, her eyes crinkling with joy. She noticed me watching dancers through the studio windows and worked tirelessly to give me a shot at my dream. We didn’t have much, but she made sure I never felt like I was missing anything. But life wasn’t kind to her. Neither were people. She was hit by a car when I was in college, and the driver—a wealthy man—left nothing behind but a check before vanishing. On the seventh day after her death, I danced one last time in the studio. Then I went to the bridge near where she died and walked into the river. As the water pulled me under, I felt the world go quiet. No pain, just peace. And then, strong arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me back to the surface. It was Ethan. He said he’d been following me since the studio. He said he’d fallen for me at first sight but never expected to find me at the river. He told me that no matter how hard life gets, I needed to keep going. He even cried. A blue butterfly landed on his shoulder as the setting sun stretched our wet shadows across the ground. That was the first time we met. I had been so sure back then. I thought Ethan was the last gift my mother left for me. At first, he was perfect. He learned to cook for me, noticed every little change in my mood, kissed my forehead every morning, and asked me every night if I was happy. When did he start to change? Or was he always this way, just better at hiding it in the beginning? Ethan brought warmth into my life, only to extinguish it entirely. When happiness begins, the countdown to heartbreak starts too. I looked up and saw Ethan’s car pull up in front of me. The bus stop was bustling with people, but our eyes met through the car window. For the first time, I realized his gaze had changed long ago. My love for him had been a filter, making him seem extraordinary. Without it, I could finally see him for what he was—ordinary. Just painfully ordinary. 0
Ethan was out of breath, his tie wrinkled from what must have been a hurried trip to find me. I could guess that his mistress had already filled him in on what happened this morning. Sitting in the passenger seat, I turned my head to the window, watching raindrops slide down the glass and leave winding trails. Ethan gripped the steering wheel tightly, the veins on his hand faintly visible. Neither of us spoke. The silence between us was thick, the kind that comes before a storm. When a red light forced him to stop, he turned to me. “You said you wanted to see the ocean, right? Let’s go tomorrow, okay?” He hesitated before adding, “That woman… she didn’t mean anything to me. It was just a stupid fling. I won’t see her again. You can think of it as… just a small mistake. I’ve only ever loved you.” I almost laughed. There was a flicker of unease in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Ethan reached for my hand, his voice soft, almost pleading. “This was my mistake. I know that. But I only did what… what any man might do. I’m begging you—give me another chance.” I took a deep breath, my tone cold and detached: “We’ve had location sharing on since the day we got together. I’ve never checked it before—not until today. And yet, you went to her anyway, knowing I could see it. Ethan, was my trust just another excuse for you to cheat?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his lips trembling slightly, but he couldn’t form a single word. The silence between us didn’t just pause the argument—it froze whatever love might have been left. I pulled my hand away from his and reminded him calmly, “The light’s green.” Back when we were dating, I used to live in constant fear of losing Ethan. I’d get anxious at the smallest things. While eating dinner, or scrolling through my phone, my mind would suddenly conjure the thought: What if one day we break up? That thought would hit me like a punch to the chest, leaving me breathless, the tears flowing uncontrollably. Even then, deep down, I knew Ethan didn’t really love me as much as I loved him. That’s why I was always so scared. That’s why I loved him so desperately, so pathetically. But now, as we approached the end of our story, I didn’t feel the sadness I once imagined. It wasn’t because I was ready to let him go. It was because I was finally ready to let myself go. I wanted to rescue the version of myself that had been locked away in that dark room for two long years. I wanted to pull her out and let her feel the sunlight again. 0When we got back to the apartment, I walked straight to the bedroom. I opened the closet, pulled out a suitcase, and began packing. Just a few clothes, a few important documents. Ethan stood in the doorway, watching my every move, the tension in the air thick enough to chill the room. “I told you I’ll change. What more do you want?” “Don’t forget—we’re engaged. We’re supposed to get our marriage license soon. This isn’t the time for you to throw a tantrum.” “Can you calm down and think for a second? Where would you even go without me? Do you have anywhere to stay? Do you even know what you’re doing?” His voice grew louder, more frantic, but my hands didn’t stop moving. When I zipped up the suitcase, I paused briefly, looked him in the eye, and said quietly, “Next Friday… don’t get in your car.” Before he could respond, my phone rang. The name on the screen belonged to a long-lost friend I hadn’t spoken to in years.
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