Gaslit by My Wife's Perfect Alibi

Then, one day, a young man suddenly stepped in front of me. "Dad!"

I froze.

He looked at me through tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. "I'm your son—20 years from now. Please, stop suspecting Mom. There has never been another man."

My face went pale.

"If you keep treating her like this, Mom will die within a year because of your suspicions. And you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

I stood there, completely stunned.

The young man wiped away his tears and continued, "Mom really loves you. The day she died, you were furious because you found a lighter in her pocket.

"You thought it belonged to another man. But Mom wanted to make it up to you, so she drove nearly 200 miles to buy you the limited-edition watch you'd always wanted.

"She never made it home. She got caught in a massive pileup on the highway."

His voice broke.

"Until the very end, Mom was still clutching that watch box in her hands."

He lowered his head, struggling to hold back his tears. "I came because I don't want history to repeat itself."

He looked up at me. "Dad, please. Can't you and Mom just be happy together?"

I forced myself to stay calm and studied his face.

He really did look remarkably like me when I was younger. Even the tiny mole in the center of his nose was the same as mine.

From that day on, I truly changed.

When Hallie Larsen, my wife, came home late, I stopped asking where she'd been. When I noticed fresh marks on her neck, I no longer lost my temper or smashed things like I used to.

And somehow, Hallie seemed to become the gentle, loving woman she had once been.

Before leaving for work each morning, she would pause by the door, smile, kiss my forehead, and tease me. "Wait for me, honey."

After work, she would always come home with little gifts she'd picked up along the way—things she thought I might like.

But the doubts never truly went away. No matter how hard I tried to push them aside, they always lingered in the back of my mind.

All I could do was keep telling myself that I was overthinking everything. We couldn't keep hurting each other like this.

Then, one evening over dinner, Hallie suddenly set down her fork and looked at me, puzzled. "Sebastian, why have you been acting so differently lately?"

I stopped eating and answered honestly, "Because I met our son from 20 years in the future. He told me my suspicion would be what killed you."

Hallie froze for a moment when she heard that.

But instead of asking how she would die, her first instinct was to come around the table and crouch beside me. She gently cupped my pale cheek, her beautiful eyes filled with concern.

"Were you blaming yourself when you heard that?" she asked.

Then she reassured me, "You don't have to feel guilty. If we work together, we can change what happens in the future."

The ache in my chest nearly overwhelmed me.

I silently nodded.

Wrapped in her tenderness, I almost began to believe that maybe I really had been too suspicious all along.

Naturally, Wyatt Castro, the young man I'd met the other day, moved into our home.

He knew my habits and preferences like the back of his hand. He knew I took my coffee without sugar. He knew I liked to prop myself up with a soft pillow whenever I read.

It was almost as if he'd really spent the past 20 years living with me.

Then, one day, I was carrying a plate of fruit to them when I casually overheard Wyatt laughing in the living room.

"He's such an idiot. He actually believed that whole story about me being his son from the future?"

"This is perfect. I don't have to sneak around anymore. You put me right under his nose, and he still can't suspect a thing. On top of that, he has to sit there and watch me act all affectionate with you. What a pathetic loser."

There was a mocking edge to Hallie's voice.

"It's his own fault for being so extreme—and so perceptive. He pushed me into this."

After a brief pause, her voice grew more serious. "Play your part. Sebastian can't find out the truth."

She warned him. "He's different from everyone else. Back then, when I was at my lowest, he was the one who protected me. He worked himself to the bone to give me the best life possible. My husband can only be him."

After another pause, she added, "As for Sebastian's habits, I'll keep sending them to you every day. Memorize them."

I stood completely still, my fists slowly tightening.

But this time, I didn't storm into the living room or confront her with rage in my eyes like I used to.

Instead, I turned around and quietly walked back into the kitchen.

Cold water rushed over my fingertips, but it was nothing compared to the chill spreading through my chest.

What neither of them knew was that I'd believed the time-travel story for a very simple reason—I had come from another world myself, and I had a system bound to me.

Three days ago, the system had asked me if I wanted to return to my original world. According to the system, Hallie really would die soon.

I hesitated. I wanted to stay. I wanted to save her.

But now, as I stared at my blurred reflection in the kitchen window, I quietly spoke to the system.

"I've made my decision. I want to go home—to the world I came from."