On our wedding anniversary, my wife slit her wrists in the bathtub, taking her own life to follow her so-called “first love” to the grave. When I opened her old diary, I was transported back to her 16-year-old self. And there he was—this so-called “first love”—trying to convince her to tattoo his name on her arm. I couldn’t hold back my anger. Pulling her behind me, I glared at him. “You Punk, get lost!” My wife, Mia, had been battling severe depression for years. Nothing seemed to bring her joy anymore. But today, on our wedding anniversary, she did something unusual—she said she wanted to have a cake to celebrate. I was overjoyed, practically rubbing my hands together with excitement as I agreed and rushed out to buy one. When I came home with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a beautifully decorated cake in the other, I found her lying motionless in the bathtub. Her body was submerged in a pool of crimson water. The cake slipped from my hands, smashing onto the floor, just as shattered as the day that was supposed to celebrate our marriage. I had always known about Mia’s so-called “first love,” Ryan. His death had left her devastated, and she fell into a deep depression because of it. One night, I came home from work to find her numbly pressing a fruit knife against her wrist. For the first time ever, I lost my temper with her. “Mia, what are you doing?! Ryan’s gone. Are you seriously going to hurt yourself over someone who’s been dead for years?” Her hand trembled as she dropped the knife, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Brian,” she whispered. “I don’t know… I can’t control myself.” I sighed and pulled her into my arms, gently wiping her cold tears away. “Don’t be scared,” I said softly. “You’re sick, but I’ll get you the help you need. We’ll get through this together.” She nodded. She said she’d try. But in the end, she broke that promise. While sorting through her things, I found an old pink diary with a small brass lock. Mia’s parents had spoiled her when she was younger, back when the family was still doing well. They had bought her one of those trendy diaries with a lock to keep her secrets safe. But as I held it in my hands, the lock fell off on its own, and the pages began flipping wildly, as though carried by an invisible wind. Finally, they stopped on a page. April 16th, 2013 “My sixteenth year feels like a never-ending storm, cold and damp, year-round.” Before I could read any further, a blinding white light engulfed me, and I felt myself being sucked into the diary. A distant, ethereal voice echoed in my ears. “Save her. Please, save Mia…” When I opened my eyes, I was sitting in a noisy high school cafeteria. I was wearing the uniform of Linrose High—Mia’s high school. Finding a reflective tray, I caught my own reflection. I was 16 again—back in my own teenage body! Across the cafeteria, I heard a group of students taunting someone. “Mia, your dad fell off a construction site and died, huh? And now your trashy mom’s working the streets? Heard you’re the one bringing her the bathwater to clean up after her ‘clients,’ huh?” “Makes sense—a trashy mom and her trashy daughter. You keep hanging around Ryan, helping him with homework. What is it? Trying to advertise yourself?” The cafeteria went silent as everyone stopped eating to watch the drama unfold. Mia’s face turned bright red. Her hands shook slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm, chewing her food slowly, pretending not to hear a thing. The girl who had been mocking her grew angrier at being ignored. “You little slut!” she snapped, slamming her tray toward Mia. Mia couldn’t dodge in time, and greasy food splattered all over her school jacket. Before I could react, a boy with bleached, messy hair stepped forward. Without a word, he grabbed his own tray and dumped its contents over the girl’s head. Soup and gravy dripped down her face as she shrieked in outrage. “Ryan, are you seriously beating someone up over a girl?” A chubby kid pointed an accusing finger at him.Ryan ran a hand through his messy hair, grabbed a Coke bottle, and smashed it against the table. Shards of glass scattered everywhere as the chubby kid touched his forehead, horrified to find blood dripping down.“I’ll beat the crap out of anyone who talks trash about Mia!” Ryan yelled. “If I hear one more word about her, I’ll go after every single one of you, one by one!” So… Mia’s so-called “first love” was this punk? And she took her own life over him? Sure, he protected her. But this kind of extreme behavior? It was bound to lead to trouble. Ryan handed Mia an empty Coke bottle and raised his eyebrows, thinking he looked cool. “Mia, nice people get walked all over. You’ve gotta hit them where it hurts so they’ll never mess with you again. Here, take this bottle and teach that liar a lesson.” What? Was this guy seriously encouraging Mia to assault someone? My future wife—kind, gentle, and soft-hearted—absolutely could not be corrupted by this idiot! Mia hesitated, staring at the bottle in her hand. Her eyes flickered with a dangerous, almost manic light. As she raised the bottle high over her head, I darted forward and shielded the girl she was about to hit. The Coke bottle came down hard—right on my back. Damn, my future wife was way stronger than I thought. That hurt. The wild look melted from Mia’s eyes, replaced by panic. She dropped the bottle and rushed to me. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Before I could respond, the cafeteria supervisor’s voice boomed across the room. “Who’s causing trouble in here? Don’t let me catch you!” Ryan didn’t even wait. He bolted without a word, slipping out the back like the coward he was. I pointed at Ryan’s retreating figure and said to Mia, “Don’t listen to him. Fighting never solves anything. He hit someone and ran away—do you really want to associate with someone who doesn’t take responsibility for his actions?” The supervisor stormed over, spitting mad. “Mia, were you the one fighting in here?” Mia, already burdened by everything happening in her life, lowered her head, ready to take the blame. But I stepped in front of her before she could say a word. “Sir, look at her. She’s tiny and well-behaved. Do you really think she could’ve been the one fighting?” I kept my tone calm but firm. “The one causing trouble was some punk named Ryan. He hit someone hard enough to draw blood and ran off in that direction. You should catch him and teach him a lesson.” The supervisor gave Mia one last sharp look before turning to deal with the injured student. Then, spotting Ryan’s bright blond hair in the distance, he took off at a sprint. “Nothing to see here. Everyone, get back to your meals,” I said. The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Mia standing there, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Who… who are you?” she asked softly. I’m your future husband—the one you left behind, the one you broke. When I saw your lifeless body, I hated you for it. Hated that you never left a place for me in your heart, that you ended your life over a man who’d been gone for years. But now, seeing you here, alive and vulnerable, all those feelings melted away. I just wanted to save you, to change your future. Even if there’s no place for me in it, I want you to be happy. I smiled and answered sincerely, “Hi, Mia. I’m Brian. It’s nice to meet you again.” “Brian, thank you for helping me earlier,” she said hesitantly. “But… why did you betray Ryan?” “He hurt someone. He needs to face the consequences. But what about you? Why are you defending him so much?” She paused, thinking. Then she said quietly, “Because… he’s the only one in this whole school who doesn’t treat me like I’m dirty.” I studied her for a moment, then gently reminded her, “Mia, your jacket got stained earlier. You should take it off.” She hesitated but eventually slid the dirty jacket off her shoulders. Without missing a beat, I draped my own clean school jacket over her. “Well, now he’s not the only one. You’re not dirty, Mia. You’re the cleanest, kindest person I’ve ever met.”
In my original life, I attended a prestigious high school in the city. But in this alternate timeline within the diary, I was now living with my grandfather in the small rural town of Linwood, where I had somehow become Mia’s classmate. Mia was one of the top students in our grade, but she sat alone in the far corner of the classroom, her desk isolated from everyone else’s. Nobody wanted to sit next to her. Dragging my desk over, I placed it beside hers and smiled. “Our new seating arrangement. Let’s make it work, seatmate.” Mia nodded shyly. Sixteen-year-old Mia was soft, timid, and completely adorable. If I wanted to change the future and prevent Mia from taking her own life ten years later, I’d have to start by dealing with Ryan. Mia had once told me that Ryan died in June 2013, crashing his motorcycle on a stormy night. To save Mia, I needed to achieve two things: 1. Prevent Ryan’s death in two months. 2. Minimize Ryan’s influence over Mia. Mia and I were in the top-tier Class One, while Ryan was in the bottom-ranked Class Nine. During evening study hall, Ryan would often come to our classroom, knocking on the window by Mia’s desk. With two fingers, he’d make a beckoning motion, signaling for her to sneak out with him. He was trying to lure her away from study hall to hang out with him. Mia hesitated, her indecision written all over her face. When she didn’t move, Ryan started mouthing words dramatically, waving his arms and jumping around outside the window like a lunatic. Just as Mia began to rise from her seat, I grabbed her wrist. “Mia, you hit me in the back earlier, so now you owe me. Sit down and explain these questions to me as compensation.” Mia looked guilty and reluctantly nodded. “Okay.” I tore a page from my notebook, wrote a bold note on it, and stuck it to the window: SHE’S NOT GOING. Then I mouthed a simple, clear message to Ryan: Get lost. I’d graduated from one of the best universities in the country. I thought I’d breeze through some tutoring to make Mia feel accomplished. Turns out, I’d forgotten most of the material over the years. Mia giggled at my confusion, grabbed a scrap of paper, and began patiently explaining the problems to me. Each time she finished a question, I showered her with praise. “You’re amazing, Mia. A total genius.” She tried to keep a straight face, but every now and then, I’d catch her sneaking a little smile. Girls like her deserved compliments—lots of them. Over time, Mia seemed to rediscover a sense of pride in her studies. Whenever Ryan came knocking, asking her to ditch class and ride around with him, she’d brush him off by saying she had to help me with homework. At least for now, my future wife’s attention was shifting ever so slightly toward me. Ryan wasn’t the type to give up easily. Knowing Mia didn’t have much pocket money, he’d often sneak into Class One and leave cheap snacks in her desk drawer. Every time Mia found one of his snacks, her face would light up with joy. I’ll admit—I was jealous. Before and after we were married, I’d spent so much effort picking out gifts for her: jewelry, designer bags, luxury makeup, even handmade items I spent hours on. She’d always react with a polite, distant smile. But now here she was, grinning ear to ear over a packet of junk food. How could someone so hard to please be this happy over Ryan’s cheap snacks? One day, I pulled out a peach-flavored jelly cup from her desk, turned, and casually tossed it into the trash. “You’re allergic to peaches,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He can’t even get that right. Some ‘thoughtful’ gift.” Mia’s expression darkened. “Ryan said that while everyone else in the world throws mud at me, he’s the only one who brings me flowers. How could you ruin something so precious?” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. From then on, I started bringing Mia breakfast: milk and eggs to start her day, fresh seasonal fruit after meals, and occasionally some high-end snacks. “This is what it looks like when someone really cares about you,” I said, smirking as I handed her a small box of chocolates. “Compared to this, that cheap stuff shouldn’t even catch your eye. Got it, Mia?” She looked down at the treats, then up at me, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Got it,” she mumbled. “Good,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Smart girl.” On the weekend break, Ryan pulled up on his motorcycle, helmet still on, and called out to Mia. “Mia, don’t go home. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your mom and her ‘clients.’ Look, I’m being generous here—why don’t you crash at my place instead?”
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