I had traveled ten years into the future, and I was furious. I was ready to give my future self a piece of my mind. "Did he cheat on me, or did he get rich and forget his roots?" "I knew it. You can never trust the love of a poor boy." "Where is he? If I don't vent this anger, my name isn't Fiona Sterling." My 31-year-old self stared at me numbly, her eyes hollow and dead. She opened her mouth, her cracked lips splitting and bleeding, as she pulled a mocking, bitter smile. "Heh... Where is he? He's dead." She suddenly lunged at me. "Didn't you know? He was in pain. He was sick. Why didn't you know!?" 1 I was pinned down, choked, and interrogated by my 31-year-old self. My heart pounded violently, my throat was blocked, and I couldn't catch my breath. But all of that physical agony paled in comparison to the shock of what she had just said. Caleb was dead? How was that possible?! It was even more absurd and laughable than the fact that I had inexplicably traveled ten years into the future. Caleb Hayes had crawled his way out of a dirt-poor rural town in the Appalachians. He had more vitality than wild weeds. He was hardworking and ambitious. Flash floods and near-starvation in the mountains hadn't taken his life. How could he die in the prosperity of the city? I shook my head desperately, struggling against her. The 31-year-old Fiona was far too frail. She was no match for me. I shoved her off my body. Terrified she would lunge again, I backed away cautiously, my hand blindly grabbing a dust-covered vase from a nearby table. "Explain yourself! What do you mean he's dead?" The horrifyingly emaciated woman slumped in the corner. Her body was paper-thin, her collarbones jutting out sharply, rising and falling with her weak breaths. Her gaze shifted. It landed on the vase in my hands. Her voice sounded like sandpaper scraping against the back of her throat. "Do you remember that vase?" I looked down, barely recognizing the object under its thick coat of dust. "This is... the Baccarat Louxor crystal vase Caleb gave me yesterday for my 21st birthday?" My 31-year-old self let out a bizarre, ironic laugh. "Heh. You only remember your birthday. Your birthday presents. Do you have any idea how many all-nighters he pulled for this stupid vase? Do you know how much he sweat through his clothes from stomach pains, swallowing handfuls of painkillers just to afford it?" "Do you know that he had already completely burned out his body, leaving him with less than a year to live?" She dragged herself up, advancing on me step by step. "You don't know anything! You are reckless, arrogant, and oblivious. You recklessly squandered Caleb's care and devotion without restraint." "You are a parasite. To prove he was worthy of a rich heiress like you, he literally drained his own life away." "And now, what are you doing holding that broken vase? Are you trying to smash my head in?" Before I could react, her skeletal fingers violently seized my hand and forced it upward. Smash! The five-figure crystal vase shattered against the head of the 31-year-old Fiona. Shards of glass rained down onto the floor, mixing with dark red blood. Panic-stricken, I caught my older self as her body slid downward. My fingers pressed uselessly against her wound. The blood welling up between my fingers wouldn't stop, no matter how hard I pressed. "Hold on! I... I'll call 911! You have to hold on!" Using her last ounce of strength, she snatched my phone away. "I should have died a long time ago." Her eyes suddenly widened. "But you! You can't die! You have to go back... go back and save him... please, save him." As she spoke her final word. Her body suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and then incredibly light. Her breathing stopped completely. I never thought that one day, I would die in my own arms. My entire body trembled violently. I covered my ears and let out a soundless scream. The room spun, and I blacked out. 2 The sound of music grew from distant to near. I snapped my eyes open and sat up, looking around frantically. I was in my familiar, luxurious bedroom. The projector screen was playing my Spotify playlist. My gaze drifted to the crystal vase on the desk and locked onto it. It was clean and brilliant. I gasped for air. Was it all just a nightmare? There was no time travel. Caleb wasn't going to die. And my 31-year-old self hadn't violently ended her life in front of me. But my heart was slamming against my ribs so hard my chest ached. Those interrogations, the desperate pleas, the thick, warm blood, my own shattered future self... It was all too real. So real that my fingertips were still shaking. Without even changing out of my silk pajamas, I grabbed my car keys and bolted out the door. The streets at 3:00 AM were terrifyingly empty. My engine roared. I kept my eyes glued to the road ahead. In the thick darkness of the night, a single light shone from the far-left corner of the 12th floor of an office building. I stepped out of my car barefoot, stumbling as I sprinted into the elevator. The glowing red numbers ascending on the screen. They reminded me of the bloody gashes on my 31-year-old self's head. Every second I waited felt like a torturous execution. The moment the elevator doors cracked open, I bolted down the hall. At the end of the corridor, I threw the heavy studio door open. The person hunched over the drafting desk froze, looking up in surprise at the noise. Caleb was, indeed, pulling an all-nighter for his architecture internship. The halo of the desk lamp outlined his exhausted silhouette. His eyes were entirely bloodshot. Seeing it was me, he quickly set his pen down. "Fiona, what are you..." Before he could finish, I was already sobbing and throwing myself into his arms. Caleb instinctively hugged me tight. His voice was laced with urgent concern: "What happened?" Seeing me in pajamas, barefoot, with my eyes red from crying had clearly terrified him. After repeatedly checking to ensure I was "intact," Caleb scooped me up and set me on his desk. He tucked my freezing bare feet under the hem of his shirt, using the warmth of his stomach to warm them. Without drawing attention to it, his hand reached out to shut a half-open drawer. I saw it. And suddenly, I realized similar movements had happened countless times before. Except, in the past, I had been completely oblivious and never thought anything of it. This time, I reached out and stopped him. "Why do you close that drawer every time you see me?" I yanked it open forcefully. It was stuffed full of antacids, prescription stomach meds, and heavy painkillers. If, a second ago, I still harbored the faint hope that everything had just been a bizarre nightmare... Now, staring at these medications, I could no longer lie to myself. Tears spilled from my eyes all over again. "Caleb, where does it hurt? I'm taking you to the hospital. We're going right now. We'll make it in time!" Ignoring his protests, I jumped off the desk and stubbornly tried to drag him away. Caleb looked a bit embarrassed. He wasn't used to being the one cared for or coddled by me. He tried to soothe me with a gentle voice: "I'm fine, it's just a little stomach ache. Old issue. A couple of pills and I'm good. Look, I'm standing right here in front of you, aren't I?" He tried to smile at me. But a sudden, violent stomach spasm froze the smile on his lips. He pressed his lips tightly together, forcing a tiny bit of color back into his face. "The AC is terrible in here. Let me take you home first, okay?" The moment he saw me, Caleb had draped his jacket over my shoulders. Now, underneath his thin dress shirt, his stomach was convulsing with waves of intensifying pain. Using the motion of crouching down to offer me a piggyback ride, Caleb pressed his right fist brutally into his stomach. He was using a sharper, exterior pain to numb the internal spasms. "Come on, Fiona. The floor is cold. I'll carry you." 3 Looking at this endlessly indulgent, gentle man in front of me. I suddenly felt that my 31-year-old self hadn't cursed me out harshly enough. I shook my head violently. Tears flew from my face, landing on Caleb's back. "No... I don't want your jacket. I don't want you to carry me. I don't want you to take me home..." My voice was choked and broken. By the end, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I just want you. I want you to live. Caleb misunderstood my words. He turned his head, pulling a bleak smile filled with understanding and self-deprecation. Because of my repeated "no's," a layer of ashen despair clouded his eyes. His voice was dry. It sounded like he was finding an excuse for me, but more like he was brainwashing himself. "My jacket... is really old. It's a knockoff. It might give you a rash. It makes sense you don't want it." "Riding on the back of my old bike is beneath you. Let me call your family's driver to come pick you up, alright?" Caleb lowered his eyes, hiding a messy floor of deep-seated insecurities. "Fiona, you don't want me to carry you. Is it... because you don't like this broken body of mine either? Because I'm unworthy?" I froze for a second. And then I realized how Caleb had interpreted my words. I wanted to explain, but I felt there was nothing more pale and powerless than language right now. So I proved it with action. With an almost brutal force, I grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him down, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. I shoved all of his bleak, self-deprecating words back down his throat. Urgently, clumsily, and silently, I branded my true feelings directly into his soul. Caleb completely stiffened. This was our first kiss. Since we started dating, we had held so much caution, fantasy, and anticipation regarding our first kiss. For it to happen so abruptly— Caleb opened his eyes wide in shock. The soft touch on his lips and the agonizing spasms in his stomach were equally real. And then. Almost purely out of instinct, he responded to me, deepening it. He took the lead, escalating the kiss. It was no longer just passive acceptance; it was confirmation and demand. Filled with a desperate, burning passion of someone who had just regained something they thought was lost. All of our insecurities, fears, and misunderstandings burned to ash within that kiss. 4 At 4:00 AM, Caleb couldn't win against my stubbornness, and I successfully dragged him to the hospital. On the way, wearing convenience store flip-flops, I made a phone call. The chief of medicine at the private hospital was an old friend of my dad's. He had already arranged for a VIP reception. The moment Caleb walked in, he was whisked away for a barrage of tests. Though he thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill, he still indulgently let me boss him around. While waiting for the results, a nurse hooked Caleb up to an IV drip. He politely thanked her. The second the nurse left, he casually reached up and sped up the drip rate. Seeing me glare at him, he obediently dialed it back down. "Fiona, don't be so tense. I'm going to be fine." How could I not be tense? How could I not be terrified? I forced a smile, waiting in sheer agony. Because we rushed the labs, two hours later, Dr. Bennett walked into the IV room holding a stack of reports. His gaze lingered between Caleb and me for a moment. He folded the reports and spoke in a casual tone: "The results are in." He paused, then looked at Caleb. "You still have two bags left on the IV. Family member, come with me for a second, I just need to go over some care instructions." Dr. Bennett's eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, glancing imperceptibly toward the hallway. My fingertips instantly turned to ice. But I had to pretend everything was fine. I turned to Caleb and softly instructed: "You stay here and be good. I'll be right back. Don't speed up the drip; I'm going to check." Caleb looked up, seemingly oblivious, and smiled his usual warm, radiant smile. "Alright. Go ahead." Inside the office. Dr. Bennett's expression was incredibly grim. He snapped the CT scans onto the lightbox, pointing to an irregular, cloudy mass on the grayscale imaging of the stomach. "Fiona, look here." "There's significant thickening of the stomach wall, and the surrounding lymph nodes are enlarged. Combined with the abnormal blood panels and the elevated tumor markers..." He paused kindly, giving me a moment to brace myself. "It's stomach cancer. And... from the looks of it, it's highly likely it's not in the early stages." Buzz— The world suddenly lost its reality. The footsteps echoing in the hallway, the sound of the doctor's voice right in front of me... it all faded far, far away. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, a dam of tears broke and flooded my face. An icy shudder crawled up my spine. In an instant, it froze the blood in my veins. Dr. Bennett quickly supported my arm. "Fiona, you have to be strong." "I know how hard this is, but if you collapse right now, what happens to the patient out there getting his IV?" Thinking of Caleb. The sounds around me slowly came back into focus. Dr. Bennett was right. I had to be strong. I couldn't let Caleb notice anything was wrong. He had nothing. This body of his was the only thing that had carried him from the rural mountains to the big city. From an impoverished kid to the university's star valedictorian. If he knew that the only thing he truly owned was already... It was too cruel. I wiped my tears and forced myself to focus on discussing the preliminary treatment plan with Dr. Bennett. Once we established a general direction, I composed myself and pushed the office door open. I pushed the door open just a crack, and then I froze. Caleb was standing right outside. His right hand was holding up his mobile IV pole. He looked at me quietly. Those eyes that were usually smiling were currently as dark and deep as a bottomless abyss. 5 "Finished talking to the doctor?" Caleb's voice sounded perfectly normal. But his white-knuckled grip on the IV pole betrayed just how violent of an emotional earthquake he had just endured. His left hand, the one with the IV needle, loosely held a bottle of warm milk. He handed it to me. "Passed by the vending machine on the way here. Got you some warm milk. You sit here and drink this. I'm going to go ask the doctor about the follow-up care, okay?" I instinctively blocked the door. But my boyfriend, who usually spoiled me rotten and agreed to everything I said, gently shook his head in disagreement for the very first time. Gently but firmly, he guided me away from the door and sat me in a nearby chair. He pressed his forehead against mine, like he was comforting a frightened child. He whispered: "Be good." "Just give me a minute." Then, he turned around, straightened his back, and pushed that office door open. I have no idea what Caleb said to Dr. Bennett in that room. When he came out, he was unnaturally calm. He had the nurse pull his IV, grabbed his prescriptions from the pharmacy, and called an Uber to take me home. He even remembered to lean over and buckle my seatbelt after we got in the car. I was on edge the entire ride. I wanted to speak, but I was terrified of shattering the rare warmth and peace of the night. The car pulled up to the gates of my family's estate. Caleb paid through his app. He stepped out and opened my door for me. He was the absolute perfect, most considerate lover. The early morning breeze was a bit chilly. He pulled my pajama collar tighter around my neck. His voice was very soft, but it sliced through the silence like a dull knife. "I'll just drop you off here." "We... let's just end it here. Okay?" 6 The pale glow of the approaching dawn fell on his pallid face. Those eyes that always looked at me brightly, overflowing with gentleness and love, reflected absolutely no light right now. They were like a dried-up well. I was stunned. It was like I couldn't comprehend the meaning of the words he had just spoken. I just stared at Caleb blankly. My voice floated out, barely sounding like my own: "...What?" The very next second. I grabbed Caleb's collar in a death grip. I was entirely submerged in pain and terror. It felt like if I let go, even for a second, he would completely vanish from the face of the earth. I practically screamed it. "NO!" My voice cracked and shattered. "Don't even think about it... Caleb, what do you mean 'end it here'? Don't even fucking think about it!" Caleb didn't respond to me. His gaze drifted past my trembling shoulders to the space behind me. It was the estate staff, coming out to check on the shouting. He nodded politely at the maids. Humble and perfectly composed. "Please take her inside." "She caught a bit of a chill. Please make her a bowl of ginger tea, make sure it's hot... Thank you." His eyes returned to me. He smiled incredibly faintly. His voice was clear, but laced with a forced, deliberate distance. "I'm leaving."
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