The 17-year-old version of Liliana knew I was allergic to alcohol. That was why, even at our wedding reception, she'd downed every toast for me without complaint.

But the 27-year-old woman she was now had someone else in her heart. She'd long since forgotten all of that.

Liliana now had two chances left.

Because of the alcohol, red blotches quickly broke out all over my face, and my head started spinning. That was when Liliana finally remembered my allergy.

She panicked, and guilt flooded her eyes. "Babe, I'll take you to the hospital."

Her concern used to make me feel warm all over. Now, it only made something sour and nauseating rise from the pit of my stomach.

I shook off her hand, my tone so flat that it was almost cold. "Don't bother. I'll go home, take some meds, and sleep it off. You guys have fun."

"No way. You're my husband. How can I just let you go home alone?" Her tone turned urgent.

She shot to her feet, grabbed my coat, and draped it over my shoulders. "Come on. We're going to the hospital. Otherwise, I won't be able to relax."

With that, she ignored the puzzled stares from the others in the private room. She didn't even spare a glance at Maurice, who sat in a corner with a dark look on his face.

Liliana gripped my arm tightly and half-supported, half-dragged me out of the room. When we got to the hospital, she rushed around nonstop, from having me registered to getting a doctor and picking up my meds.

Her steps were hurried, and she kept muttering, "Babe, hang in there. It's almost over."

It wasn't until she heard the doctor say it wasn't serious that the anxiety finally started to fade from her face.

She sat by the hospital bed, holding my hand, her gaze sincere. "Babe, this is all my fault. I would never have forgiven myself in this lifetime if anything happened to you because of that drink."

I looked at her, my feelings a tangled mess. I'd never once doubted that Liliana's love for me was true. The way she treated me and worried about me stemmed from her love.

The only issue was that her love was too cheap. All someone had to do was crook their finger to have it.

I looked away from her. The 17-year-old version of Liliana was beside me, her eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, nothing came out.

All of a sudden, I felt exhausted. The physical discomfort and the weight in my chest made me want to do nothing but sleep.

I said to Liliana, "I'm going to rest."

She carefully tucked the blanket around me and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. She looked at me tenderly, saying, "Go to sleep. I'll be right here with you."

I nodded and stopped responding. Just as I was drifting off, her phone rang. I could feel her gaze, which had been resting on me, suddenly falter. Then, after some hesitation, she picked up her phone and tiptoed out of the room to answer the call.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Liliana didn't come back, but the 17-year-old version of her did. She kept her head down, not daring to look at me.

"Was it Maurice who called her away?" I asked.

She didn't answer. She just bit her lip, unconsciously balling her hands into fists.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Where did she go?"

She was silent for a long time before finally forcing out a few words. "The parking lot."

I pulled out the IV needle and got out of bed. She rushed to stand in my way, her voice tight with panic. "Si, maybe she just had something else to take care of. Don't go. Please, don't go…"

By the end, she was practically begging.

But when I looked at her, my reddened eyes held a stubborn edge. She met my gaze and, in the end, slowly stepped aside.

It wasn't hard to spot Liliana's car. After all, this late at night, there weren't many people having intimacy in their cars in the hospital parking lot. She must've been in a rush. The back door of the car wasn't even fully closed.

A torn pair of stockings dangled by the car door. From inside came a man's low, rough groans. "Lili, would Simon ever do this with you in the car? Do you like me, or do you like him more?"

A woman's breathy, all-too-familiar moans echoed clearly through the empty parking lot. "In the car, I like you the most."

Those intimate, filthy words were like knives that stabbed straight into my heart… and 17-year-old Liliana's too.

Her beautiful, youthful face was twisted in agony. She looked at me, her voice trembling as she said, "Si, just cry if you want to."

I shook my head. "I won't cry."

I withdrew my gaze. Despite the pain burning in my chest, I kept my expression blank. "Liliana, this is the second time."

I stood there quietly. I had no idea how long I stayed frozen in place. Eventually, Liliana climbed out of the car, looking utterly sated.

Her skirt was wrinkled, and one of the buttons on her blouse was missing. She had a smile on her face as she lifted her head, only to lock eyes with me.

Her face instantly drained of color. "B-babe? What are you doing here?"

I didn't answer her question. I just looked past her at Maurice in the car. His face glistened with sweat, and there was a small damp patch on his tailored dress pants.

My silence only made Liliana more frantic. She rushed toward me, reaching for my arm, but I stepped back, avoiding her touch.

"Babe, I can explain. It's not what you think. I—"

"Save it." I cut her off, my expression calm as I looked her in the eye. "I don't want to hear it."

Her hand froze in midair. Her lips parted as if to say something, but Maurice had gotten out of the car and was moving toward me. His eyes were red, and he looked like he was the victim in this whole thing.

"Simon, Liliana and I just couldn't control ourselves. It's all my fault. If you want to blame someone, then blame—ah!"

He suddenly grabbed my hand and slammed it hard into his own stomach. He collapsed onto the ground, staring up at me in feigned shock. "Simon, I just wanted to apologize. Why did you do this? Why did you punch me?"

He clutched his stomach, letting out a few agonized groans. "Liliana, it hurts… It really hurts…"

Concern flooded Liliana's eyes. She completely forgot about me and turned to help him up. "Mo, are you okay? Hang in there. I'll take you to the ER."

Maurice caught her sleeve. "Don't worry about me. Simon must be furious. Go talk to him and calm him down."

At that, Liliana looked back at me, her expression twisted with conflict. "Babe…"

"I didn't hit him," I said evenly.

"But Mo is so naive…" She trailed off, but the part she left unsaid landed on my heart like a sledgehammer. She meant that Maurice was too naive to pull something so manipulative.

I let out a small laugh and stepped aside, clearing the way to the elevator. "Are you going to walk away from me for him?"

Liliana's face was full of pain. "Babe, I swear to you that my feelings for you have never changed."

Her voice was firm and full of conviction, as if she truly believed I should trust in her love. "But right now, Mo is suffering. I can't just leave him like this."

Liliana continued, "Once I get him admitted to the hospital and settled in, I'll come straight back and explain everything. Please, just believe me this once."

I wanted to say no, but the 17-year-old Liliana was sobbing hard. She crouched, her shoulders trembling like an animal someone had abandoned. She looked helpless and pitiful as she mumbled over and over, "Si, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

What did she have to be sorry for?

At 17, Liliana had only ever had eyes for me. She had never betrayed what we had. At that age, she'd loved only me. But could I really say that the 17-year-old Liliana and the 27-year-old Liliana were not the same person?

I didn't know.

I lowered my gaze. Under the burning weight of 27-year-old Liliana's stare, I finally said, "Fine."

Joy flashed across her face, and she stepped forward to hug me. "Wait for me."

Then, she turned and helped Maurice up. The two of them disappeared from my sight.

…

Even by dawn, Liliana had yet to return. She'd begged me to trust her just this once, and she'd blown me off once again.

I silently finished the discharge paperwork. After that, I took a cab to the place from ten years ago, where 17-year-old Liliana and I had buried our time capsule.

It was beneath a plane tree. Ten years ago, it had only been a sapling. Now, a decade later, its canopy had spread wide and full.

I picked up the small shovel I'd brought and began to dig, slowly and steadily, until I finally unearthed the time capsule we'd buried.

I opened the letter 17-year-old Liliana had written. "To the 27-year-old me: Hi, it's me, 17-year-old Liliana. By now, you and Si must be living a really happy life, right? I keep wondering what kind of life I want to give him. Should it be rich and carefree, or ordinary but steady and safe?

"But no matter how I think about it, the most important thing is that he's happy. To the 27-year-old me, I hope you don't ever make Si sad. Don't ever break his heart. Don't let him down and don't lie to him…"

By the time I finished reading, the 17-year-old Liliana beside me was already sobbing so hard that she could barely speak. With tears streaming down her face, she said to me, "Si, don't be sad. Don't be upset. Leave me and never look back."

By this point, we both knew the truth. The three chances the 17-year-old Liliana had begged for had all been used up.

I reached up to wipe the tears from her face. To my surprise, I managed to touch her. It felt like reaching across a river of time and laying my hand on our decade together.

"Don't cry," I said softly.

Then, I slipped the sapphire ring off my ring finger. It matched the one I'd given Liliana when I proposed to her. Back then, she told me that sapphires stood for eternal promises and unwavering love. She also said that in this lifetime, I, Simon Rivero, was the only man she would ever love.

I placed the ring, the letter, and the divorce papers I'd already prepared into the time capsule. Then, I looked at the 17-year-old Liliana under the plane tree. Her figure was growing hazier and harder to make out.

She was crying, but she still forced a smile at me. She said, "Si, don't forgive her."

As her figure slowly faded away, the memories of the past ten years seemed to dissolve right along with her. They dissipated like mist fading as the sun climbed higher in the sky and were gone in an instant.

I took out my phone and sent a message to Liliana. "Liliana Coolidge, we're done."

The next second, the phone which had been silent all night suddenly lit up and started ringing, shrill and urgent.