"So did you change?" I cut her off. "If you'd stayed the way you were when he fell for you, would he have strayed?"

The thirty-three-year-old me went still. Her ragged breathing turned to tremors.

I changed. My looks faded. I became naggy, calculating, snapping at him for no reason. But my love for him never wavered.

He's the one who changed. Impatient. No longer indulgent. Forgetting our anniversary...

Patsy, we're just ordinary women. When you reach my age, you'll understand—I can't be as carefree as you are now.

Take my advice. End it. The deeper you love him today, the worse he'll destroy you tomorrow. Antony Weiss isn't worth it...

"No—he is worth it!"

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"He's the only person in this world who loves me as much as my parents do!"

"He learned to bake little cakes just for me! He stayed up night after night when I was sick, never leaving my bedside! He recorded his voice as my custom ringtone! He carried me on his back to the mountaintop to watch the sunrise! He ran into a fire to save me, risking his own life!"

"That love was real. You lived it yourself. How can you say he isn't worth it—"

But he murdered your child.

I froze.

Something wrenched at my heart—a slow, unraveling ache.

My voice came out shaking. "What did you say?"

Through the phone, I heard her—the thirty-three-year-old me—her teeth chattering faintly.

Do you want to hear it, Patsy? Do you want to know what Antony Weiss becomes in ten years?

I said nothing.

I just listened as she began to speak, her voice growing eerily calm.

The thirty-three-year-old me told the twenty-three-year-old me everything.

Five years into our marriage, Antony and I sponsored a college student from a poor family. Penelope Cooley.

She was eighteen. Shy as a mimosa, blushing whenever she spoke to me, too timid to even glance at Antony.

Beyond the monthly living stipend, we barely kept in touch.

After she graduated and the sponsorship ended, we had even less contact—just the occasional holiday greeting, polite and perfunctory.

I thought she'd just be a passing figure in my life.

I never imagined that when I was discharged from the hospital after my miscarriage, I'd pass a room with its door half-open—

And see Antony inside.

The woman in the bed was Penelope Cooley.

Their fingers were intertwined. He gazed at her swollen belly with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

I stood paralyzed, my mind unable to process the explosion of information. And then the next words sent me plummeting into the abyss.

"Eight months now. Our baby will be here soon." His voice was soft, reverent. "Penelope, I can't stop thinking about it—a tiny, soft little thing, sweet and gentle like you. It makes my heart race."

A coy, blissful smile spread across Penelope's face. She guided his hand to her rounded belly.

"The baby's excited to meet Daddy too. It's just..." She paused, worry clouding her brow. "Our child won't have a legitimate name. Just a bastard..."

"No." Antony cut her off gently. "Patsy's surgery is done. I'll talk to her today. Before the baby comes, we'll be legally married."

Penelope's expression turned guilt-stricken. "Antony... if Patsy ever finds out her miscarriage wasn't an accident, will she hate me?"

He kissed her cheek, soothing. "I won't let her find out. And even if she does—it was my idea. I'll never let anyone hurt you..."

Slap.

The folder slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.

I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.

All this time, I'd believed it was something I ate—food poisoning that caused the miscarriage.

For days, I'd been drowning in self-blame and guilt.

I didn't even dare complain when Antony said he was too busy to pick me up from the hospital.

But the truth—it sliced me apart like shards of glass.

What a joke.

Their child was eight months along. Almost ready to enter this world, to be adored and cherished by parents who loved it more than anything.

My child had been eight weeks. Murdered by its own father.

Reputation... divorce... not an accident...

The words exploded in my head like thunder.

My mind had rusted over. I stood there in a daze, and they didn't even notice me at first.

My body felt nailed to the floor. I couldn't run if I tried.

They sprang apart like they'd been electrocuted. Antony's eyes locked onto me, panic flickering across his face.

"What—what are you doing here?"

What am I doing here?

I wanted to laugh. I couldn't.

Wasn't he the reason I was in this godforsaken place?

Penelope's face went white. Tears welled in her eyes as her arms tightened around Antony's waist.

I suddenly remembered—last year, he'd gone out of his way to arrange an internship for her.

I'd found it odd. He never paid attention to the students he sponsored. Why the sudden generosity?

She's just a pitiful girl, he'd said. It was no trouble.

Right. No trouble at all to bring her into his bed.

I forced my voice steady, though it shook. "Antony, I'll give you the divorce. But why did you have to kill my child?"

He looked at me. Something flickered in his eyes—something that might have been regret.

"I'm sorry, Patsy. If you'd given birth, we'd still be tied together. Penelope is sensitive. She couldn't handle it. I needed to put her mind at ease."

The words hit me like lightning. My blood ran cold, then reversed course entirely.

I lunged forward, desperate to grab Penelope, to demand answers. Why did my child have to die for your peace of mind?

She shrank back, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Patsy! I just love him so much—I only wanted my baby to have all of its father's love—"

I threw myself at her. Antony yanked her behind him and shoved me away.

"Patsy! Enough!"

"Look at yourself! You're not worth a tenth of her! What did I ever see in you?!"

I stared at Penelope. That face—twenty-something, radiant, blooming with youth. And mine at thirty-three: sallow, hollowed out, worn to the bone.

The fight drained out of me. All that remained was a bleak, endless wasteland where my heart used to be.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the muffled sobs coming through the phone.

In the vanity mirror across the room, my young face wavered like a mirage.

But the expression it wore—grief, fury, bitter regret—belonged to my thirty-three-year-old self.

I'd thought I couldn't empathize with her pain.

My cheeks were already wet with tears.

"Are you still going to marry him?"

I turned the question back on her. "Do you still love him?"

She didn't answer. She didn't need to.

I was her. I knew.

Our love for Antony had seeped into our marrow years ago.

After a long silence, I said honestly, "I can't stop loving him. And I can't give up the version of him who loves me so fiercely right now. Making a twenty-four-year-old Antony pay for what he'll do in ten years... that wouldn't be fair either."

"If we can't cut out the root, we avoid it."

"You mean... stay away from Penelope? But will that change anything?"

"If nothing could change, you wouldn't have called me. We have to try."

Her voice lifted, a spark of hope breaking through. "You're right. We're truly in love—why should I hide? Love is worth fighting for. Then let's do this..."

The day Antony and I registered our marriage, I made one request.

If either of us files for divorce due to infidelity, the cheating party leaves with nothing.

This had never happened before. Antony agreed without hesitation and signed the agreement.

"I'd never cheat on you," he said, brimming with confidence. "And if you ever did, it would only mean I hadn't been good enough to you. I'd never leave you with nothing."

We had a beautiful wedding, and our marriage was everything my thirty-three-year-old self had described—a love so tender it made others envious.

By our fifth anniversary, I deliberately avoided mentioning anything about sponsoring students. Antony didn't bring it up either.

Joy bubbled up inside me, impossible to contain.

Things can change. Everything can change.

As long as Penelope never appears, Antony won't stray.

Then one evening, he brought her home—disheveled and trembling.

"Patsy, I found her at a karaoke bar. Those old men were forcing drinks on her. Turns out she's a student from a low-income family." His eyes lit up. "Didn't you always want to sponsor a student in need? Let's sponsor her."

My mind exploded.

Before I could gather my thoughts, the phone began to ring—over and over, relentless as a death knell.

I answered, and through the haze, I heard my thirty-three-year-old self screaming.

"Don't agree! If you refuse, they'll never cross paths again. Patsy, don't you dare go soft!"

Penelope's eyes—wide and frightened as a fawn's—locked onto mine. Tears pooled in them, brimming with desperation and longing.

I opened my mouth to refuse.

But then I met Antony's gaze—expectant, searching.

I could already picture the disappointment that would cloud his face if I said no.

I hesitated.

Then I nodded.

Antony's face broke into a radiant smile. He pulled me into his arms. "I knew you'd say yes. But honestly, even if you hadn't, I would've helped her in secret. I didn't want you to regret it later."

Ice water flooded my veins. That crushing helplessness wrapped around me like a shroud.

Later, my thirty-three-year-old self called again. Her tone was softer this time—almost comforting.

"It's okay. Just keep a close watch. Don't let them get close. Don't give Antony the chance to waver."

I took full control of Penelope's sponsorship. Beyond the monthly transfers, I texted her constantly—checking on her studies, her life.

I bought her necessities and clothes. When she fell ill, I personally took her to the hospital.

She was grateful—moved, even. Her respect for me only deepened.

That was exactly what I wanted. Let her be so touched she'd never dare make a move on Antony.

Under my vigilant watch, Penelope finally graduated.

I even found her a decent internship on my own.

And then I saw her at Antony's company.

When I asked what was going on, Antony raised his voice at me for the first time.

"Do you have any idea what kind of place you sent her to? She was being harassed! If I hadn't happened to visit that office, her life would've been ruined!"

Something inside me collapsed.

Of course things had changed. Penelope—who elsewhere would've fought tooth and nail for a permanent position—was now Antony's secretary.

Two years until our divorce.

Both versions of me were consumed by an anxiety I'd never known.

I started showing up at Antony's office almost daily, always bringing three lunches so I could invite Penelope to eat with us.

At night, I put on flawless makeup and slipped into lingerie that left him breathless. I made him crave me down to his bones.

When he worked late, I brought midnight snacks. When he traveled for business, I booked a trip to the same city.

We were practically inseparable.

At first, Antony found it charming.

Then he grew suspicious.

"Patsy... are you watching me?"

Guilt seized my throat. I didn't dare cling to him after that.