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.

The journal said: "Her mother didn't make it. She lost her mind."

And then, on a night of pounding rain, she jumped from the twenty-eighth floor.

The journal ended with this: "She's dead. We're finally free. And yet, somehow, we feel she didn't deserve to die that way."

I stared at the screen, tears dropping onto the back of my hand.

"Auntie, why are you crying again? Are you okay?"

The little boy watched me, worried.

I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and forced a smile.

"It's nothing. Auntie just got some dust in her eyes."

I drew a slow breath and asked him, "When are your mom and dad coming home?"

He answered sweetly, "Daddy went to pick up the custom necklace he's giving Mommy. He'll be back soon. Mommy's having a baby sister, and the doctor said she can't move around much, so she's been resting in her room."

Pregnant.

A family of four. Happy. Whole.

Living their fairy-tale life on the bones of mine.

I held myself still against the shaking that went through every part of me.

"Sweetie, when your dad gets back, could you use this phone to call Auntie? I want to surprise him."

The boy agreed at once. "Okay!"

I smiled at him and ended the call.

The instant the screen went dark, the door opened.

My mother came in carrying a thermos, her eyes still red.

My mother, alive, with both legs, both arms whole.

I lunged at her and held on with everything I had, and the sobs broke out of me.

She thought I was still grieving over Simon's death.

She patted my back, soothing me over and over. "Lia, let it out. The dead don't come back. You have to look forward now."

I buried my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking into her clothes.

"Mom, I'm never going to love him again."

I swore it to myself.

This time, I would not let anyone hurt my family. Not anyone.

After she left, I dried my eyes and picked up my phone.

I dialed Rachel.

Three rings, then she answered.

Her lazy voice drifted down the line.

"Hello? Lia. What's the occasion, calling me?"

"Rach, Simon's gone. I'm a little scared, being on my own."

She gave a soft laugh.

"Oh, Lia, I might not be able to come back for a while. I forgot to tell you, I just married my first love. We literally just signed the papers."

She launched into it, showing off.

"He's so good to me. He'll do anything I ask."

When she'd finished gloating, she put on a comforting tone.

"Fel, don't be too sad either. Honestly, Simon wasn't that great. He was cold and selfish, that man. Better he died early, so he wouldn't drag your whole life down with him."

I listened to her spit poison over his name.

It was almost funny.

"Is that so?" I asked, cold.

"Who exactly is this first love of yours? Where are you two right now?"

Her voice locked up, as if she hadn't expected me to push.

She stumbled over it. "Just... someone you don't know."

That was when I caught something off on the other end of the line.

"What are you doing?" My grip tightened on the phone.

"Nothing... nothing." Her voice went suddenly soft.

Then a man's voice, one I knew far too well, came through the speaker.

"Rach, you're not paying attention. You need to be punished."

It was Simon.

The cold went straight through me, and my stomach turned over.

Rachel said quickly, "Lia, I'll come see you in a couple of days. I have to go!"

Just before the call cut off in a rush, I heard it clearly on her end. The sound of waves. And gulls crying over them.