Chapter 1
On my birthday, my husband Jason Shaw took our son to celebrate his friend's promotion—a girl he knew from college.
I signed the divorce papers, packed my stuff, and found his ancient phone in a box.
On the screen was a text from the 17-year-old Jason, confessing his love.
I hit delete.
But the next second, a new message popped up: [Who are you?]
*****
More words popped up in the chat box: [Why did you delete my love confession?]
My eyes widened in horror, and I threw the phone away.
Frantically, I grabbed my own phone and scrolled back through thirteen years of messages. Staring back at me was Jason's old confession.
Suppressing my panic, I picked up the phone again and asked, [Who are you confessing to?]
[Emily Young,] he replied.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw my name.
I figured it was Jason at 17 on the other end.
Another message arrived: [Are you even human? Why are you trying to stop me from confessing?]
Regaining my composure, I replied to him, picking up from where he left off.
[You shouldn't confess because someday, you'll only end up hurting her.]
Jason stayed silent for a moment and then shot back, [No way.]
Even just through the screen, I could almost see that cocky, fearless expression on young Jason's face.
Seventeen-year-old Jason was all passion and teenage fire. He could never have imagined what he'd be like at thirty.
My finger hovered over the keyboard, about to type a reply, when suddenly the front door flew open.
Keeping my cool, I slipped the old phone into my pocket and went back to packing.
Jason burst in, frantically searching through the living room, turning everything upside down.
"Emily, have you seen my little box?" Jason called out.
"Emily!" Jason shouted again, his voice growing more urgent.
He kept calling my name, but I just ignored him, quietly packing my things without responding.
Finally, he swung open my bedroom door and we nearly bumped into each other. I was just about to leave.
He stared for a moment and then knitted his brows. "Why are you packing up? Where are you headed?"
I glanced down, pressing the divorce papers into his hand.
I said, "Jason, let's get a divorce."
Jason's frown deepened. "Is this about Megan? I've told you before, if there was anything going on between us, I would've divorced you ages ago."
Honestly, I'd heard that excuse so many times that I'd lost count.
If I hadn't accidentally looked at his phone, I'd never have known the secret—the man who'd been sleeping next to me all those years had been messaging Megan Grant every single day for the past five years.
Everyone at his lab said the two were the most compatible working partners, and they always ate lunch together.
Everyone knew they were close. People in the group chat would even joke that Megan was his love, and Jason would just grin and play along.
But whenever I questioned him, his brows would knit together in annoyed disbelief.
He said, "It's just some harmless teasing. Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?"
I was so worn out by hearing that again and again.
"Isn't Megan the one you're into? Fine, sign the divorce papers, and then you can chase after her all you want," I said.
"Emily, I never said I liked her," Jason snapped.
Suddenly, he exploded, grabbing the divorce papers right out of my hand.
"And seriously, after our divorce, where are you even going to go? You're thirty, with no impressive degrees, not even a master's. Nowadays, who would actually hire you? How would you make enough money to survive?"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Eight years ago, Jason and I had both applied for grad school together.
But that year, I found out I was pregnant.
The doctor told me my body was too fragile, and if I ended the pregnancy, chances were I'd never be able to have children again.
Jason wanted the baby badly and truly hoped I would choose to keep it.
So that year, it was just him who ended up taking the grad school entrance exam alone.
The day he got accepted, he held me close and kissed me for what felt like an eternity.
He said, "Emily, I know you gave up your future for our child. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything from now on. I'll make sure you and the baby never want for anything."
At the moment, I felt a lump rise in my throat, and I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out.
Jason tore the divorce papers into tiny pieces, and his angry expression slowly softened.
"Emily, I'm going to pretend you didn't say any of that today. Don't bring this up again," he said.
He turned to leave, then stopped, and looked back at me. "Oh, right. Where's that box?"
I lowered my eyes. "It's on the cabinet by the TV."
"Got it," he replied.
He picked up the elegant box from the cabinet, but just as he was about to walk out the door, he stopped short.
"Just wait at home. I'll rush back early and celebrate your birthday," he said.
I let out a laugh, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
It turned out he still remembered my birthday.
That fancy little box he just grabbed... I'd already spotted it yesterday while tidying up the place.
It was an emerald bracelet—the one I'd dreamed of for ages but could never bring myself to buy because it was just too expensive.
The moment I opened the box, pure happiness flooded through me. I thought Jason was giving me a real birthday surprise.
I thought maybe he actually wanted to please me this time.
But what crushed my heart was the card inside the box. In bold black ink, it read: "For Megan Grant."
It was just me fooling myself all along.
The fact that he'd fallen for someone else was exactly why I was finally ready to divorce him.
Suddenly, Jason's old phone buzzed in my pocket.
I took out the phone and saw a message sent from the teen Jason.
He said, [Never mind. It's too late now. Maybe I'll just tell her how I feel next year instead.]
I blinked and, almost on autopilot, tapped open that old text Jason sent me years ago.
To my astonishment, the date at the bottom had changed. It wasn't thirteen years ago anymore, but twelve.
My heart skipped a beat, eyes wide. I suspected seventeen-year-old Jason could change the timeline.