Seven years into our marriage, my husband pushed me down the stairs over a single word from his mistress. The baby was gone. And I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. On the day we signed the divorce papers, I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply dug out an old sketchbook covered in dust from the storage room. It was the very first gift he had ever given me back in high school. When I opened the first page, a familiar line of handwriting came into view— “Violet, I’m gonna love you for ten thousand years!” Through tears, I grabbed a pen and viciously crossed it out. “Don’t love Violet. She’s bad luck.” But the next second, the words vanished into thin air, replaced by a new line of furious scribbles: “What kind of death-wish monster are you?” “Who the hell dares curse my wife?!” Eighteen-year-old Ethan, across time itself, had sent me his furious reply. "Miss Carter, Mr. Blackwell's terms are clear: the villa goes to you, plus five million dollars, as long as you sign the papers." The lawyer pushed the divorce agreement in front of me coldly. I'd just finished dialysis. The needle marks on my arm still showed dark bruises, and my chest felt like it was stuffed with burning coals, making me want to vomit. But I held it back. I glanced up at our wedding photo on the wall. In the picture, Ethan Blackwell had his arm around my waist, his smile brighter than the sunshine that day. Who could have imagined that in just seven short years, the man who swore to protect me forever would now find even the sight of me disgusting? "Where is he?" "Mr. Blackwell is accompanying Miss Sullivan to her prenatal checkup. He's unavailable." The lawyer answered emotionlessly. Sophia Sullivan. At the sound of that name, my heart seized violently. The impoverished student I once considered a little sister and financially supported. The girl who called me "sis" over and over. She was now carrying my husband's child, brazenly living in the guest room I'd carefully decorated, and was about to replace me entirely. "Fine." I picked up the pen. My hand trembled badly, but when I signed "Violet Carter" at the bottom, the stroke was surprisingly resolute. No heartbreaking accusations. No hysterical attempts to make him stay. Because I knew that Ethan Blackwell's heart had become harder than stone. The lawyer collected the documents and left. The enormous villa was hollow and empty, as quiet as a tomb. I began packing my things. Actually, I didn't have much to take. For these seven years, I'd lived like an appendage of Ethan Blackwell. The clothes were ones he picked, the jewelry was what he bought. Things that truly belonged to me were pitifully few. In the corner of the storage room, I dragged out a dust-covered cardboard box. This was from high school graduation, when Ethan had forced it on me. He said these were all his worldly possessions, entrusted to my care. Opening the box, a slightly yellowed hardcover sketchbook sat on top. I studied art. He was a jock. During study hall, I'd draw while he either slept beside me or grabbed my notebook to doodle randomly. Something possessed me to open it. The first page showed an extremely ugly turtle he'd drawn, with a note beside it: "Violet is a little turtle." Flipping through, it was full of the clumsy strokes belonging to eighteen-year-old Ethan. Until I reached the middle page, where I froze. This was a line I'd never seen before, written with such force it had penetrated through the paper, even tearing it slightly. "Violet, I will love you for ten thousand years! Not one year less, not one month, not one day, not one hour!" Tears fell without warning onto the page, blurring the blue ink. Love for ten thousand years? Ethan Blackwell, your love didn't even have a shelf life of seven years. I fumbled in my bag for a black pen. The urge to destroy everything rampaged through my chest. I forcefully drew a big X over the words "ten thousand years." Then, trembling, I wrote a line. "Ethan Blackwell, don't love Violet Carter. She's cursed. She'll destroy you." Since the ending was so rotten, better if it had never begun at all. I closed the notebook and slumped against the wall, powerless. The stabbing pain in my stomach made me curl into a ball. Just then, the sketchbook resting on my lap suddenly moved. I thought it was my imagination. But immediately after, the scratching sound of someone writing forcefully on paper exploded in my ears out of nowhere. I snapped my eyes open and flipped the book open. The line I'd just written had vanished. In its place were several lines of bold, messy blue handwriting, the ink still wet, carrying an overwhelming sense of teenage bravado and inexplicable fury. "Who the hell are you? Some kind of demon?" "Who? Who dares curse my girl? Got a death wish?" "Come out! Stop playing ghost!"
I stared at those lines, my breathing nearly stopped. I knew this handwriting too well. Ethan's current writing was practiced regular script. Steady, restrained, carrying the authority of someone in power. But this wild, almost flying scrawl could only have been written by that reckless eighteen-year-old Ethan. A hallucination? Had the cancer spread to my brain? I pinched my thigh hard. The pain was piercing. Not a dream. Looking at the question marks and exclamation points that kept appearing, my tears flowed even harder. I wiped my face, gripped the pen tightly, and wrote tentatively. "Are you the eighteen-year-old Ethan Blackwell?" The response came instantly, incredibly fast. "Obviously! What the hell are you? Why are you writing in my notebook? And why are you calling Violet cursed?!" "Say one more bad word about her and I swear I'll kill you!" Even across time and space, across the distance between life and death, I could picture how he looked right now. Definitely wearing that red jersey, eyebrows raised high, looking fierce as he protected what was his. Once, this fierce devotion was my security. Now, it had become the sharpest blade stabbing into my heart. I took a deep breath and wrote. "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is this, Ethan Blackwell: Violet will cause you unbearable pain in the future." "Bullshit!" The words on the other end were so large they nearly burst off the page. "Violet is the best girl in the entire world! I chased her for three whole years before she agreed to date me. I'm terrified of dropping her, afraid she'll melt if I hold her in my mouth. How could she possibly cause me pain?" "You're the problem, you sneaking rat!" "You're just jealous I have a girlfriend, aren't you? Single loser!" Looking at these words, I cried and laughed at the same time. Yes, I was jealous. I was jealous of eighteen-year-old Violet. Jealous that she had a boy whose heart and eyes were full of her alone. That boy hadn't yet learned to weigh pros and cons. Hadn't learned to put on false smiles. Hadn't learned to kick away the one he loved like garbage for profit. "Ethan Blackwell," I wrote, my wrist losing strength, "I'm from the future... an observer." "I've seen how you two end up." "End up?" He paused for a few seconds. "Did we get married? Have kids? Violet says she wants a daughter, a beautiful daughter just like her." That blade struck true. I instinctively covered my flat stomach. There had been a little life there once. Three months along. That day Sophia pretended to fall. Ethan shoved me without asking any questions. I tumbled down the stairs. Blood stained my white dress red. When I woke up, the baby was gone, and I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. And Ethan just looked at me coldly and said, "Violet, stop pretending. Sophia was just trying to help you up. You lost your balance. Who can you blame?" The memories corroded my sanity like acid. I gritted my teeth and wrote, one word at a time. "You got married." "But seven years later, you'll have an affair with her best friend." "You'll force Violet to divorce you for that woman." "You'll personally kill your child." "Ethan Blackwell, is this what you call love?"
The other end fell into deathly silence. A full five minutes passed with no writing appearing. I thought the connection had broken, or maybe he'd thrown the notebook away. Just as I was about to close the book, a line of crooked text emerged, the handwriting messy, revealing the writer's inner panic. "You're full of shit." "If you're going to make up stories, at least make them believable! Me cheat? Me force Violet to divorce? Unless I got kicked in the head by a donkey or possessed by a demon!" "And Violet's best friend is that crybaby Sophia? That bitch? I can't stand her. I don't even want to look at her. I'd hurt Violet for her? That's the biggest joke ever!" I froze. So eighteen-year-old Ethan saw more clearly than anyone. Back then, Sophia had just transferred to our school and always followed me around looking pitiful. I was soft-hearted and treated her like a little sister, sharing all my snacks with her. Ethan warned me more than once: "Violet, stay away from that Sophia. She's got bad intentions. She keeps staring at my shoes and watch. Her eyes are off." I didn't believe him then. I even scolded Ethan for being petty and assuming the worst about a girl. Turns out, I was the fool all along. "You don't believe me?" I wrote. "Of course I don't!" "Fine." I glanced out the window. A rainstorm had started outside. "If I remember correctly, today should be June 15, 2014. Three days after finals ended." The other end replied: "So what?" "Tonight at 8 PM, you'll go to the stadium downtown for a farewell game. Five minutes into the third quarter, you'll run into the basketball hoop trying to save the ball. Your left leg will fracture and you'll need three stitches in your forehead." "This injury will make you miss the athletic scholarship to State Sports University. And it'll be... the first time you lose your temper with Violet." This was an indelible turning point in my memory. After he got injured that day, he thought he was useless and didn't want to burden me. He yelled at me in the hospital room, telling me to get lost. This was the first crack in our relationship. Although we patched it up later, that scar was always there. The other end went silent. A moment later, he replied with an incredibly arrogant line. "I just won't go for the save today! Let's see how your prediction turns out!" "Wait to be proven wrong, you fraud!" The writing faded. I closed the notebook and wearily shut my eyes. I hoped I'd be proven wrong too. If the past could change, if his leg hadn't broken, would everything that came after be different? ... 10 PM. The sound of the passcode lock opening the front door woke me up. I thought Ethan had come back. My heart instantly leapt to my throat. But it was Sophia who walked in. She wore a loose maternity dress and carried a luxury brand purse from the current season. The one I'd liked last month but couldn't bring myself to buy. "You still haven't left yet?" Sophia looked at me with a bright smile, her victor's attitude completely undisguised. "Ethan sent me to check on your packing progress. After all, this house transfers to me tomorrow. I need to redecorate. I don't like your taste. Too plain." I looked at her coldly. "Have him come tell me himself." "Ethan's busy picking out bird's nest soup for me." Sophia stroked her slightly rounded belly, walked up to me, and lowered her voice to a volume only we could hear. "Violet, you're so pathetic. You know what? That day I didn't actually mean to fall. You were just too stupid, standing there daydreaming at the top of the stairs." "Oh, and that baby... Actually, Ethan already knew you didn't want it. He said it was good riddance. Saved trouble during the divorce later." Boom. Something exploded in my head. "What did you say?" I shot to my feet, staring at her intently. "I said, Ethan never wanted the child you were carrying!" Sophia laughed delightedly. "He thought you weren't worthy!" In that moment, all my rationality snapped. I raised my hand, ready to slap her hard across the face. "Stop!" A roar came from the doorway. Ethan rushed in and shoved me aside, shielding Sophia behind him. His strength was enormous. Already weak, I crashed heavily into the corner of the coffee table. Sharp pain shot through my waist. "Violet! Haven't you caused enough trouble? You're about to be divorced and you're still bullying Sophia? How can you be so vicious!" Ethan looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust. I lay on the floor, looking at this man I'd loved for seven years. His face overlapped with the memory of that sunshine boy, then quickly tore apart. "Ethan Blackwell," I spat out a mouthful of blood and smiled miserably. "You're something else." He saw the blood at the corner of my mouth. His eyes flickered with what seemed like a moment of panic, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. "Get out now. Don't let me see you again." He helped Sophia upstairs. I heard Sophia say sweetly, "Ethan, don't be angry. She just can't accept it..." I climbed up from the floor, grabbed the box containing the sketchbook, and stumbled out into the rainy night.
I checked into a cheap hotel. Soaked through, stomach pain torturing me like death by a thousand cuts. I shook as I pulled out the sketchbook. The pages were already covered in dense writing. The blue ink was written so hastily that in some places it had bled through to the other side. "Hey! Fortune teller!" "Are you there? Answer me!" "Fuck! I actually broke my leg!" "That fat bastard crashed into me just now. I couldn't help it and went for the save anyway... My leg's broken and my forehead's cut open too, just like you said. Three stitches." "I'm at the hospital now. It hurts like hell." "Violet just cried. Her eyes are swollen like peaches. My heart aches. I wanted to yell at her to leave, but thinking about what you said, I didn't dare shout." "Hey, whoever you are from the future." "If you can predict the future, then tell me. If I love her this much, why would I change later?" "Did Violet do something to betray me?" Looking at line after line, my tears broke free. Even at this point, eighteen-year-old Ethan was still trying to make excuses for his future self. He'd rather suspect I did something wrong than believe he was the one who changed. I picked up the pen. The IV tape still clung to the back of my hand, damp with rain. "She did nothing wrong." "She lived with you in a basement apartment for three years. To save money for your startup equipment, she ate only one meal a day." "She drank with clients until she had stomach bleeding, all for your business." "To have your baby, she took countless ovulation shots. Her stomach was covered in needle marks." "Ethan Blackwell, you're the only one who turned rotten." "You were blinded by money. You found her haggard and plain. You thought Sophia was young and exciting and could give you thrills." I wrote quickly. Each word was like flesh carved from my heart. The other end was silent for a long time. So long I thought he'd run away scared. Suddenly, a line slowly appeared, the strokes no longer bold but carrying a tremor. "That bastard... is really me?" "Made Violet live in a basement? Made her drink until she had stomach bleeding? And found her unattractive?" "Fuck that guy!" "I'd break future me's legs! What kind of inhuman behavior is that?!" "System... no wait, goddess, tell me what I should do now. What do I need to do to not become that animal?" "What do I do to protect Violet?" My heart felt like it was being carved with a knife. It's too late. The current Violet is already rotting in the mud. "Ethan Blackwell," I wrote. "The only solution is to leave her." "Don't go to the same university as her." "Don't confess your feelings to her." "Don't let her fall in love with you." "Bridge to the south, city to the north. You two should never have met."
"Impossible!" The response on the other end was decisive. "Leave Violet? Only over my dead body!" "If future me is a bastard, then I'll change starting now! I won't start a business, okay? I'll just be a PE teacher and stay with her every day. I won't get involved in those messy circles!" "That Sophia, right? I'll expose her true colors to Violet right now!" "I refuse to believe that these 130 pounds of bones can't beat some bullshit destiny!" Looking at the boy's bold declarations, I smiled bitterly. If fate were that easy to change, it wouldn't be fate. But in my heart, a faint hope unexpectedly arose. What if... what if he really could do it? Just then, another line suddenly appeared in the notebook, urgent and panicked. "Wait! You said future me has an affair with Sophia? Is that woman really manipulative?" "Violet just told me that Sophia heard I'm hospitalized and is bringing me hot soup." "That idiot Violet even said Sophia's a good person!" "No way. I need to handle this." My heart clenched. During that summer after senior year, something like this did happen. Sophia came to the hospital to see him. While I went out to get water, she deliberately spilled hot soup on herself, pretending to be scalded, and implied I hadn't secured the thermos properly. At the time, although Ethan said nothing, looking at Sophia's reddened thighs, his eyes flashed with sympathy. That was the first time Sophia planted the seed in his heart that "Violet is clumsy and not gentle enough." "Listen, Ethan Blackwell." I took a deep breath and began writing. "Sophia will arrive at your hospital room in ten minutes. She'll be wearing a white dress with a very low neckline." "While Violet goes to wash fruit, she'll deliberately spill soup on her own leg, then frame Violet for it." "Don't believe her!" The writing on the other end flew across the page. "Got it! Damn, trying to pull this shit on me?" "Watch me take her down!" ... I held the sketchbook, curled up on the hotel bed, sleepless all night. The next morning, I woke to severe abdominal pain. The stomach cancer symptoms were getting worse. I was even vomiting blood now. I struggled to get up, wanting to pour some water, only to discover the sketchbook had an entire new page of writing. The handwriting was cheerful, radiating a sense of sweet revenge. "Nice!" "You're amazing! Sophia really came, dressed so... scandalous." "As soon as Violet went to the bathroom, she came over with the soup and was about to pour it on her own leg. I shouted, 'What are you doing! Trying to scam me?!'" "Then I 'accidentally' knocked the whole bucket of scalding soup onto the floor by her feet. It splattered oil spots all over her, but didn't burn her. Just scared her into screaming." "Violet ran out and I immediately played pitiful, saying Sophia tried to force-feed me soup, and when I refused, she was going to pour it on me." "You should've seen Sophia's face. Red, then white, then green. Spectacular!" "Violet kicked her out and apologized to me for not protecting me. Man, my girl is so cute." Looking at these words, color finally returned to my pale face. It really... changed? Just then, my phone suddenly rang. An unknown number. I answered. A familiar yet strange voice came through, carrying a trace of youthful tone mixed with adult exhaustion. "Hello, is this Violet?" I froze. It was Ethan Blackwell's voice. But not the cold Ethan. Not the furious Ethan from last night either. This voice carried confusion and caution. "I'm... Ethan Blackwell." "Last night I had a very long dream. I dreamed that when I was eighteen, I kicked your best friend out of my hospital room..." "Violet, did we... miss something?" My phone clattered to the floor. Memory was being rewritten.
The other end of the phone was a suffocating silence. Rain hammered against the window, just like the chaotic reality of this moment. "Speak." My knuckles turned white gripping the phone. "What else did you see in your dream?" Ethan's voice sounded somewhat dazed, even carrying unprecedented self-doubt. "I dreamed... Sophia spilled soup on the floor and I scolded her. Then you protected me like an angry little cat." "But Violet, that's wrong." His tone suddenly turned cold. The rationality of twenty-five-year-old Ethan Blackwell returned. "My memory clearly says you didn't hold the thermos steady and burned Sophia. I even ignored you for three days over it. Why would I dream something completely opposite?" My heart sank. So when the past changed, the current version of him didn't simply disappear or reset. Two sets of memories were battling in his mind. One was the cruel reality weathered by seven years. The other was the newly corrected memory, still carrying youthful passion. "Ethan Blackwell," I asked softly, "which do you believe?" "I..." He was at a loss for words. Just then, Sophia's saccharine voice came through the phone. "Ethan, who's calling? It's so late." Then came the rustling of fabric. Ethan seemed to cover the receiver, but I still faintly heard his murmur: "Nobody. Insurance telemarketer." Insurance telemarketer. His wife of seven years had become an insurance telemarketer in his words. "Violet, I don't know what method you used to make me have these weird dreams, but I'm warning you. Don't try any superstitious nonsense to win me back. We signed the agreement. Stop pestering me." The call ended. I looked at the darkened screen. The twisting pain in my stomach attacked again. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited until I was dizzy. This time, it was all dark red blood clots. I rinsed my mouth and looked at myself in the mirror. Pale as a ghost. It's not over yet. As long as the current Ethan Blackwell remained this way, it meant the changes to the past weren't thorough enough. A single event wasn't enough to shake seven years of cause and effect. I dragged my weak body back to the bed and opened the sketchbook. The writing had already updated. "Why aren't you responding?" "I just got Violet to sleep. Her eyes are swollen like two peaches. It breaks my heart." "But that Sophia really is trouble. I just saw her leaving. The look in her eyes was vicious and scary. What should I do next?" I picked up the pen. My hand shook, but my eyes were unusually determined. To change the ending, I had to cut it off at the source. "Ethan Blackwell, next comes college application season." "Originally, Violet gave up her acceptance to the New York Academy of Fine Arts to be with you. She switched to Fashion Design at Riverdale Tech, only because it was two blocks from your Sports University." "This time, you must stop her." "Let her go to New York. Let her chase her dreams. Don't let her sacrifice herself for you."
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