On our wedding day I waited to become his bride, and my groom died.

For a whole month after that, I cried myself through every single day.

In a daze, I accidentally dialed his secret messenger account.

He'd hardly ever used that account, but I'd gotten into the habit of talking my longing into it.

The line rang for two seconds, and the video call connected.

The face on the screen wasn't Simon Weiss. It was a little boy, seven or eight years old.

“Are you looking for my daddy?”

His bright little face beamed. He held up a fancy greeting card, showing it off to me in a crisp, eager voice.

“My daddy wrote it. ‘Happy 2033, sweetheart. Happy seventh anniversary’! My daddy went to get the anniversary present!”

I froze where I stood.

The year?

It hit me all at once. The other end of this call was seven years in the future.

I pushed down the bitterness and the shock churning under my ribs.

It had to be coincidence. The old number recycled by the carrier, picked up by some stranger's kid.

I dragged out an ugly smile and offered a soft little blessing. ：“I hope your mommy and daddy are happy forever, okay?”

But the next second the boy swung the phone around, thrilled, the image lurching everywhere.

The camera swept across the wall behind him.

Dead center hung an enormous wedding portrait.

The moment it came into focus, the cold sank all the way through me.

The woman in the wedding dress was my best friend.

And the man's face was exactly, identically my dead husband's. Simon's.

……

I stared at the screen, my breath coming fast and shallow.

But the proof was right there in front of me. Even the small tear-shaped mole at the corner of his eye was the same.

Simon wasn't dead.

Seven years on, he wasn't just alive. He'd married Rachel Butler.

So why had they lied to me?

There was a roaring in my head, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I opened my chat thread with Rachel.

It still sat where we'd left it last month.

I'd told her I was getting married, and she'd sent back a long voice message.

There was a bitterness in her voice. ：“Lia, I hope you'll be happy. I just got overseas. I'm helping my first love deal with something, so I won't be able to make it to your wedding.”

I'd ached for her at the time.

I knew Rachel had a first love she'd never gotten over.

She used to drink herself sick over him, late at night.

I'd tried to talk her into it. ：“You love him that much. Go win him back.”

She'd laughed at herself then. ：“I'm the one who dumped him back then, being headstrong, and I got so much else wrong. He's about to get married. How could he ever forgive me?”

Looking back now.

The way she'd looked at me then wasn't regret at all.

“He came to say goodbye. He told me he was getting married. I couldn't help it, I threw my arms around him. I told him I'd changed my mind, that this time I didn't want to give up. You walked ninety-nine steps toward me. Let me walk the last one.”

So her first love, the one getting married, was Simon?

My hands and feet went cold. I turned and dug through the cardboard box of his things I'd just finished sorting.

Inside an old leather case, I found a photo of them from high school.

One I had never seen before.

In it, Simon and Rachel stood side by side.

Rachel had her arm hooked through his, and the two of them smiled sweetly at the camera.

So they had once been a couple.

When Simon and I first got together.

Rachel was always running him down in front of me.

Saying he had a bad temper. Saying he didn't know how to be considerate.

I'd thought she was just afraid I'd get hurt.

It turned out they were exes who couldn't stand each other, love curdled into hate, still tangled up in each other.

So what did that make me?

One move in their game? A tool to make the other one jealous?

And then I remembered.

Six months ago, Simon had gone abroad on a business trip.

When he came back, I noticed red scratches on his neck.

I asked how he'd gotten them.

His eyes drifted somewhere off to the side, but there was a strange, knowing little smile at the corner of his mouth.

“A stray cat scratched me overseas. Sharp claws.”

I believed him at the time.

Now I understood. Those were marks Rachel Butler had left on him.

“Miss, what's wrong? Are you crying?”

The boy's voice came through the phone and pulled me back.

I lifted my head and looked at his face.

This was Simon Weiss and Rachel Butler's child.

He had Simon's brow and eyes, Rachel's mouth.

I swallowed the taste of blood back down my throat and asked, my voice gone hoarse.

“Sweetie, will you tell me about your mom and dad? I think I might know them.”

The boy tilted his head. ：“You know my mommy and daddy?”

I nodded. ：“Aren't they Simon Weiss and Rachel Butler? I was their classmate in college.”

His eyes lit up, and he asked, a little excited, ：“Then do you know Aunt Felicia Henson?”

I froze.

Felicia Henson.

That was my name.

My nails dug into my palm. I worked to keep my voice level.

“Why ask about her? Is she someone special?”

The boy lowered his head, fiddling with the toy in his hands. His voice got smaller.

“She was a really good friend of my mom and dad. But she died seven years ago.”

“Died?” I repeated it, not believing it.

“Mhm. Mommy and Daddy tell me about her a lot. Every year they go to the cemetery to see her, and they hug this one headstone and cry, and they say they're so sorry, that they let her down.”

The cold went straight through me.

Seven years ago. That was 2026. That was this year.

Simon faked his death, Rachel betrayed me — and then I died?

I fought to hold my shaking body still and forced the words out.

“How did she die?”

The boy shook his head. ：“Daddy won't let me ask. Miss, do you know her?”

I turned away from it. ：“Are your mom and dad happy together?”

The boy nodded, cheerful again.

“My daddy loves my mommy so much!”

And then he started listing them off, one after another, like treasures.

“When Mommy was pregnant with me, she wanted shrimp dumplings from the South Side in the middle of the night. Daddy didn't even think about it, he just got in the car and drove halfway across the city to buy them, and he kept them in a warmer so they were still hot when he got home.”

“Mommy doesn't like rainy days. So Daddy built a big glass greenhouse in our yard, and when it rains Mommy sits inside and not one drop touches her.”

“And one time Mommy broke an old wooden clip by accident and cried and cried. Daddy found the best craftsman in the whole world, and it took months to fix it, and now it's locked up in the safe.”

With every word he said, the knife in my chest sank another inch.

I thought about how things had been between me and Simon.

The night I burned up with fever, I called him.

He said he was busy with a project and told me to drink hot water and take my medicine on my own.

I only found out later that Rachel had gotten drunk at a bar that night, and he'd gone to pick her up.

I'd always wanted a house with a yard. He said it was a waste of money, impractical.

Then he turned around and built Rachel a glass greenhouse.

That wooden clip, I'd seen it too.

Some cheap thing Rachel had grabbed on a whim back in high school.

And the protection charm I'd stayed up nights to embroider for him with my own hands.

He tossed it into the corner of a drawer, and later, when it was taking up space, he threw it straight in the trash.

He said, ：“I don't believe in this stuff. And it looks cheap.”

The camera followed the boy's movements and swept across that wedding portrait again.

Looking at those two faces, I remembered sophomore year.

I'd been so excited to introduce my new boyfriend to my best friend.

At a four-person table in the school cafeteria.

I was holding Simon's hand, and Rachel sat across from us.

I'd been too happy to notice the undercurrent moving between them.

Rachel picked up her glass of water, and the water spilled onto Simon's white shirt.

Simon was obsessively clean. Normally, if someone so much as brushed against him, he'd go change.

But that day, he just looked at Rachel, steady and quiet, and didn't lose his temper.

He even took a tissue and wiped the table in front of her first.

Back then I thought Simon was only being so patient with my best friend for my sake.

Looking back now, the cracks were everywhere.

The little boy pushed his phone closer to the camera.

“Look, ma'am, my mom and dad even have a couple account! It's full of videos they made together!”

The camera moved in close, and I saw the name of the account clearly.

——“Her Majesty Queen Rach.”

I picked up my other phone, the backup one.

My fingers trembled as I typed the words into the search bar.

It actually came up.

I opened the account.

The earliest post really did date back to high school.

The video quality from back then was still a little blurry.

It was Simon and Rachel in their school uniforms.

Running across the field, holding hands in the back row of the classroom.

Scrolling toward the middle, the posts suddenly stopped.

The gap matched, down to the day, the exact three years I was with Simon.

And in the second month after Simon's "death,"

the account started posting again.

The first video back was Simon on a yacht, down on one knee, sliding a diamond ring onto Rachel's finger.

The caption read: ：“After everything, it was still you.”

I scrolled down mechanically.

One post after another.

In the comments there were congratulations, and there were people who knew the truth, cursing them out.

One comment was hard to look at: ：“Wasn't Simon with Felicia Henson? How did he end up with her best friend? Scumbag and a snake!”

Right beneath it was a reply from Simon himself, and he'd pinned it.

“Rach is the only one in this life for me. Everyone else was just a mistake I made before I understood my own heart. The one who isn't loved is the real other woman.”

The one who isn't loved is the real other woman.

I bit down hard on my lip and tasted the sweet metal of blood.

So for three years, all I'd been was a test run, something he used to figure out what he wanted.

I kept scrolling.

They went skiing, they went diving, they went skydiving.

In the videos Rachel laughed without holding anything back, and the doting in Simon's eyes was thick enough to drown in.

And me?

For those three years, to keep Simon's startup afloat, I juggled three part-time jobs.

To save enough to buy him one decent suit, I ate plain buttered noodles for a solid month.

At the top of the page, pinned, there was a link to a long piece of writing.

It was called Confession Journal.

The cover claimed it was a novel.

But I had a feeling it was about me.

I clicked the link.

What it told was the second half of a woman's life, a woman named "Lia."

It was what happened in the future of the current timeline.

A few months from now I'd catch the first hints that Simon had faked his death, and I'd go confront them.

In their eyes, I was the one who lost her mind first.

So they struck back, and that was how my career was destroyed.

My mom, trying to get justice for me, went and knelt outside Simon's company.

And was run over by the car of one of those rich kids they ran with, both her legs crushed.