Eight years. Eight years of building a life together, and for the first time, my fiancé left me entirely alone on our anniversary. All because his new assistant had called him in tears, claiming she had gotten lost on her way home. But that was also the night I realized I was somehow sharing a physical connection with the Wesley of ten years ago. I stared into the vanity mirror, my eyes still swollen and rimmed with red. A dull, heavy ache swelled in my chest, rolling over me in waves. Just as I bent over the sink to splash cold water on my face, my reflection rippled like disturbed water. When it settled, it wasn’t my face staring back. It was a face I knew, yet hadn’t seen in a decade. It was Wesley. But he was eighteen. My breath caught. He was clutching his chest, his shirt bunched in his fist, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. Instantly, the old name slipped from my lips. “Wes? What’s wrong?” The boy in the glass jerked his head up. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, thin and ragged. “Felicity? Are you… are you hurting?” He gasped, his shoulders trembling. “If you aren’t, why does my heart feel like it’s being ripped apart?” … I stared blankly at the glass. I had owned this vanity mirror for five years; I knew every feature—the LED backlight, the anti-fog heater, the smart screen. But it was never supposed to show me a ghost from the past. Perhaps the shock on my face was too obvious, because the teenage Wesley spoke again. “Felicity, please, just calm down and listen to me.” He rubbed a hand through his messy hair—a nervous habit I knew better than my own reflection. “I begged an old man at a street market. He did something… a ritual, I guess, to connect my senses with yours, ten years in the future. He told me if you hurt a little, I’d feel it tenfold.” The pain in his chest seemed to ease slightly, and he let out a long, shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to know if you were happy in the future. I wanted to know if we made it. But it seems like I walked right into a disaster.” My throat felt tight, clogged with a lifetime of words. I opened my mouth, but only a whisper escaped. “You proposed. We’ve been together for eight years.” His face lit up, his eyes bright as stars. “I knew it! I knew we’d make it. We’re going to be happy forever.” I let my next words fall right over his excitement, cold and sharp. “But you’re sleeping with someone else.” He froze. His face flushed crimson with a mix of shock and indignation, his voice cracking. “Bullshit! I would never!” Instead of arguing, I looked down at my phone. A few minutes ago, I had received a series of messages from Lacey, his new assistant. The first was a photo. She and Wesley were sitting side-by-side at the impossibly exclusive omakase spot I had been begging him to take me to for months. On the table between them was a custom cake from a bakery with a six-month waiting list. Lacey was leaning against his shoulder, smiling radiantly. Beneath the photo was a short video. In it, Lacey looked up at him with wide, feigned-innocent eyes. “Wes, if Felicity finds out we’re here, won’t she be mad?” Hearing my name, Wesley’s brow furrowed slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was irritation or guilt. The next second, he dismissed it with a careless shrug. “Why would she be mad? Everything she has, I gave her. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be stuck in some backwater trailer park, pumping out kids for some older man who treats her like livestock. There wouldn’t be a Felicity. Just a miserable, broken girl named Patience.” My fingers trembled as I closed the video, but the name Patience lingered in the bathroom air, echoing in my ears. A sharp, stabbing sensation flared in my chest. I looked up and saw the boy in the mirror double over again, clutching his ribs. “Now do you believe me?” My voice was flat, hollowed out of all life. “Wes, we loved each other for eight years. But it only took you six months to turn into a monster.” Tears dripped onto the marble countertop. “I don’t care what kind of magic you used to get here. But don’t come back. I don’t want to look at your teenage self and feel a single shred of hope for the man you became.” I walked out of the bathroom without looking back at the boy who had once, truly, loved me. The next morning, a raging fever woke me. Whether it was the emotional shock of the previous night or some bizarre side effect of the sensory connection, my temperature had spiked to 103 degrees. My joints ached, and my vision swam. Without thinking, I called Wesley. He answered on the second ring, but his voice was like ice. “I’m in a meeting. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.” Even through the fog in my mind, I felt a bitter twinge of irony. When a person stops loving you, even their greeting changes. The old Wesley would always answer with a laugh, asking, Miss me already? Now, I was just an interruption. “I have a fever, Wes. I need—” “Fine. I’ll have the driver pick you up.” Before the line went dead, I heard Lacey’s soft, giggling laugh in the background. She sounded so happy, so secure, as if she had already claimed everything that used to be mine. I didn’t wait for his driver. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a coat, and stumbled to the hospital on my own. As the cold IV fluid finally began to drip into my vein, easing the fire under my skin, I opened my phone and saw Lacey’s latest Instagram post. It was a nine-photo grid. In every single shot, Wesley was by her side—holding her bags, opening her car door, looking at her with the attentiveness that used to belong to me. After the IV bag was empty, I took an Uber back to the empty apartment. I took a hot shower, trying to wash away the smell of the hospital, and when I stepped out, I found the eighteen-year-old Wesley waiting in the mirror. His face looked even worse than mine, pale and drawn. But he still managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t control when I appear.” I kept my eyes down, wrapping my towel tighter, and remained silent. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to feel the warmth of his gaze. As I turned to leave, he called out. “Felicity!” I stopped. He didn’t look at my face; instead, his eyes traveled down to my exposed shoulder blade, his finger hovering near the glass. “Does it still hurt?” My hand went to my shoulder. Beneath my fingers was a long, jagged scar. My father had given me that scar when I was twelve, throwing a heavy garden spade at me. Back then, my name was still Patience. I had been crying, begging my parents to let me stay in school instead of dropping out to raise my newborn brother. I didn’t remember the exact trajectory of the spade. I only remembered the dirt porch, the feeling of my own blood soaking through my shirt, and the sudden arrival of the West family. They had been visiting the rural town to see their ancestral estate. Twelve-year-old Wesley had lunged forward like a feral little animal, throwing himself between me and my father. Later, his family took me with them back to the city. Years later, Wesley helped me legally change my name. I remembered him sitting under the sweet-scented osmanthus tree in his backyard, dappled sunlight warming his face. Patience is a terrible name, he had said. It sounds like you were only born to wait on someone else. You deserve your own name. A new life. Felicity. It means happiness. And last night, that same boy, now a man, had used my old name like a weapon to mock my pain to another woman. The boy in the mirror was bent double now, shivering from the phantom pain of my fever and my heartache. Yet, seeing me look at him, he forced another reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, Felicity,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d grow up to be so cruel. To make you hurt like this.” I turned my face away, shaking my head. Before I could speak, the apartment doorbell rang, loud and demanding. I didn’t expect it to be Lacey. The moment I opened the door, she stepped inside, casually kicked off her shoes, and slid into a pair of guest slippers. She looked at me with a soft, sweet smile. “Hi, Felicity. Long time no see. Wes sent me to grab some files from the study.” Without waiting for a response, she walked straight past me into the bedroom. I stood in the living room, too exhausted to fight, too drained to stand up for my own space. When she came out, my eyes locked onto her hand. On her ring finger was a delicate diamond ring. It was the custom piece Wesley had designed for me, the one he was supposed to use for our proposal. Lacey noticed my gaze. She raised her hand, stretching her fingers in the light, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Oh!” she gasped, feigning panic. “Felicity, please don’t get the wrong idea. Wes gave me this as a bonus for working late. It doesn’t mean anything.” She stepped closer, her eyes welling with tears. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take it off right now. I’ll never wear it again.” Before she could touch the ring, my phone rang. It was Wesley. His voice was entirely devoid of the tenderness he had spent eight years building. It was cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. “Felicity, don’t give Lacey a hard time. Let her leave. I need those files immediately.” I knew what he was doing. He was watching us through the home security cameras. When he first installed them, he told me he wanted to be able to look at me during a stressful workday to “recharge.” Now, he was using them to make sure I didn’t lay a finger on his mistress. The line went dead. The silence in the apartment returned, heavy and suffocating. Lacey looked at me, the fake tears vanishing instantly, replaced by a cold, victorious smile. She didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she unzipped her designer handbag just enough for me to see a box of condoms tucked inside. “Honestly, the files were just an excuse,” she murmured, leaning in close to pat my cheek. “Wes said these are his favorite. He was in such a hurry for them. I really don’t understand how a woman can let herself become as pathetic as you are, Felicity.” Something inside me snapped. I grabbed her arm, my grip tight and unyielding. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Lacey. I promise you.” My grip left a dark red mark on her pale wrist. She shrieked, “Are you crazy? Let go of me!” In her struggle to pull away, she shoved me hard. My lower back collided violently with the sharp wooden corner of the coffee table. A white-hot pain flared through my spine. I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball as cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Lacey stood over me, looking down with utter disgust. “Look at you. A miserable charity case, actually thinking you could compete with me.” She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her. By evening, the fever had returned with a vengeance. When Wesley finally came home hours later, I was still semi-conscious on the living room floor, shivering in the dark. Even through the delirium of the fever, his voice cut through the fog. “Are you still playing this dramatic game, Felicity? Lacey came by to help me pick up some files, and you put on this pathetic, tragic show.” He knelt down, his fingers pinching my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “A bad apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? You’re acting exactly like your white-trash mother back in the hills.” I tried to whisper that I hadn’t done anything, but my vision swam, and the world went completely black. I woke up in a private hospital room. The sky outside the window was pitch black, and the room was entirely silent. The dull ache in my back remained, and a tear slipped down into my hair. I thought of the eighteen-year-old Wesley. If I was in this much pain, he must be suffering terribly. I reached out and found a small compact mirror on the bedside table. He was there. But he was crying. In my memory, the Wesley of that age was fierce, proud, and stubborn. I had never seen him shed a single tear. But now, his eyes were red, and tears were streaming silently down his cheeks. “Do you need to see a doctor?” I whispered. He flinched, startled by my voice. He quickly wiped his face, trying to hide the dampness on his cheeks. “No,” he muttered, his voice thick. “I don’t have any physical injuries. The hospital can’t fix this. It’s just… a phantom pain.” He forced a weak, trembling smile. “Once you stop hurting, I will too.” I looked at his tear-stained face, but before I could speak, he interrupted me, his voice rising in panic. “But I’m not crying because of the pain, Felicity! I’m crying because of you.” He pointed to his chest. “Your back hurts, your head hurts… but this is where it hurts the most. And I’m the one who did this to you. I did this.” He looked around, finally realizing I was in a hospital bed. His eyes widened, and he grabbed his jacket, scrambling to his feet. “Why are you in the hospital? Stay there, I’m coming to—” He froze. His hands dropped to his sides, limp and useless. In that quiet moment, the harsh truth settled over him. He was only a shadow from the past, separated from me by a mirror and ten long years. He could feel every ounce of the misery his future self inflicted on me, but he could do absolutely nothing to stop it. We fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The quiet was shattered when the door clicked open. The present-day Wesley walked in, holding Lacey’s hand. “You’re awake,” Wesley said, his voice slightly softer than before. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were actually sick.” I turned my head toward the wall, refusing to look at them. “Felicity,” Lacey said, her voice dripping with artificial sweet sympathy. “Wes and I came here today because we have some news. I’m pregnant.” Wesley took a step closer to the bed. “Lacey’s baby deserves a proper, stable family. We aren’t married yet, Felicity, and I won’t leave you empty-handed after all these years. Name your price.” I slowly turned my head back, staring at him. “What did you just say?” “I said, name your price. A condo, a trust fund, a ticket out of the city. Whatever it takes for you to move on and stop showing up in our lives.” My voice shook. “Is that all these eight years were to you, Wesley? A transaction?” Lacey began to sob softly, hiding her face against his shoulder, playing the victim perfectly. Wesley’s brow furrowed, his eyes hardening as he looked at me like I was a difficult child. “You’re too emotional right now,” he said, wrapping an arm around Lacey. “You’re going to stress her out. We’re going home. Call me when you’ve calmed down and are ready to talk like an adult.” They left, the door clicking shut behind them. In the quiet room, the boy in the mirror spoke. “Don’t call him.” I lifted the compact mirror. He was biting his lower lip so hard it was nearly bleeding. “I shouldn’t have loved you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that the man I become doesn’t deserve you.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Two years from now, I won’t ask you out. I won’t let us happen. Felicity, remember this: I gave you your name, but your path is your own. Even without me, you will still be Felicity. You won’t ever have to be Patience again.” As he finished speaking, the surface of the mirror began to ripple violently, like water caught in a storm. When the glass cleared, there was only my own reflection staring back. The eighteen-year-old Wesley was gone.
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