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.

So I switched targets.

I started inviting Penelope out constantly—shopping trips, coffee dates, anything to keep her close.

Weekends meant movies together, short getaways.

I cut off every chance they had to be alone.

On her twenty-second birthday, Antony and I threw her a little celebration.

She dressed simply, almost innocently, wearing a paper birthday hat as she clasped her hands and made her wish.

I teased her, asking what she'd wished for. I expected the usual deflection—if I tell you, it won't come true—or some generic hope for career success and happiness.

Instead, she blinked up at us with those big, dewy eyes, looking between me and Antony.

"I wished for you and Mr. Weiss to be happy together forever. Safe and sound, for the rest of your lives."

I froze. The words tumbled out before I could stop them: "Why would you wish for that?"

A bittersweet expression crossed her face.

"My parents divorced when I was little. No one wanted me. My grandmother raised me alone." She paused, her voice softening. "You and Mr. Weiss... besides her, you're the kindest people I've ever known. I think of you like... like my own parents."

She ducked her head immediately, flustered, words rushing out in a panic.

"I don't mean you're old or anything! I just—I respect you both. Like elders. That's all I meant."

I felt like a demon stripped of its disguise, exposed for what I truly was.

My face burned.

I'd been guarding against her like she was a thief. And all this time, she'd seen us as family.

Shame crawled through me, hot and suffocating.

After that night, I stopped hovering. Stopped watching. And strangely, something in my chest loosened.

Less than six months until the divorce that had destroyed the other Patsy.

Antony hadn't cheated. Penelope wasn't pregnant.

The thirty-three-year-old me could finally breathe. I just had to wait—quietly, carefully—for that date to pass without incident.

Three months to go.

I came home early from a business trip.

The moment I stepped through the door, I saw clothes scattered across the floor.

A man's. A woman's.

A high-pitched ringing filled my skull. My hand trembled as I pushed open the bedroom door.

On the bed, two naked bodies tangled together, the room thick with the sound of ragged breathing.

I stared at Antony—sweat dripping down his face, muscles tensed—and at the woman beneath him.

That face.

I knew that face better than my own reflection.

They saw me. Froze. Scrambled for their clothes in a flurry of panic.

"Patsy, I—" Antony's voice cracked with guilt.

"It's all my fault." Penelope dropped to her knees at my feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Patsy, please—I'm pregnant. I'm begging you... let us be together."

Antony's head whipped toward her. Shock flickered across his face before something else took over—something bright and eager. He pulled her up, gathering her into his arms.

"Penelope, you're really pregnant?" His voice shook with barely contained joy. "This is wonderful. I'm finally going to be a father."

Then he turned to me.

"Patsy, you know how long I've wanted this. You could never—" He stopped himself, wincing, but pushed on anyway. "My child won't be born illegitimate. Patsy... let's get divorced."

I felt nothing.

No rage. No anguish. No hysterical screaming like the other Patsy had described.

Just... relief.

The boulder I'd been carrying for ten years finally crashed to the ground.

A decade of walking on eggshells, dreading the inevitable—and now that it was here, I accepted it with a calm that surprised even me.

I looked at him. This man I'd loved for over half my life.

Leaving didn't seem so hard after all.

I even managed a smile. Faint. Almost peaceful.

"Okay."