Chapter 1

The system replied almost immediately.

[?]

[You’ve tried to stop this plenty of times before.]

[What, are you trying to make him chase you by pulling away?]

[It won’t work.]

It won’t work.

I had lost count of how many times the system had told me that.

And it was right.

Three months ago, a timeline had appeared in front of me.

Every time one of its predictions came true, that line would be crossed out and marked with a check.

The list had once been packed with them.

Now only the final prediction was still glowing.

I didn’t respond.

Just a few minutes earlier, I had been standing outside the glass door of Claire’s hospital room.

He stood beside her bed.

There were six containers of soup on the cabinet, all from different places.

Only a spoonful or two had been touched from each.

“Can you at least eat a little?”

Claire lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry. You went to all those places for nothing.”

He didn’t answer.

He scooped up a spoonful, cooled it, then held it out to her.

I had watched scenes like this for three straight days.

On the first day, he brought two kinds of soup.

She didn’t touch either one.

He picked one up and tasted it.

It had gone cold.

He threw it away and went out to buy another.

She managed half a spoonful.

“Too rich.”

On the second day, he tried three different restaurants and lined everything up in front of her.

She shook her head.

“I don’t have an appetite.”

He stood beside her bed scrolling through his phone for nearly half an hour.

“There’s a place across the street that does lighter food. I’ll go get something from there.”

On the third day, there were six containers.

Claire turned her head away.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going home today? Willa said she has a fever.”

He didn’t look up as he cooled another spoonful of soup.

“You know her. She’s healthy. It’s probably just a cold.”

“You’re getting discharged later, and you won’t know how to handle everything by yourself.”

I had stood outside that door for three days.

That was enough.

When I left the hospital, my phone buzzed.

It was finally a reply to the message I had sent three hours earlier.

'I think I have a fever.'

'Are you feeling really bad? I’ll be back later. There aren’t any earlier trains.'

'Be good, okay? The medicine’s in the box under the coffee table. Take something and get some sleep.'

I stared at the messages for a long time.

They weren’t any different from all the others he had sent me before.

When I got home, my laptop was still open on the coffee table, the screen glowing.

The video I had been editing for our wedding was only half finished.

I sat down on the couch and pressed play.

Ten years of us.

Texts.

Handwritten notes.

Little messages passed back and forth.

The final frame froze on a piece of paper covered in his messy handwriting.

'If you’re lying to me, I’ll die. Seriously, I’ll die!’

'You really want to be with me?'

Underneath, in small, rounded pink handwriting, was my answer.

'Yeah.'

That day in class, he had been so excited that he grabbed my hand beneath the desk.

I had turned bright red and kept my head down, too embarrassed to look at him.

That had been exactly ten years ago today.

I pressed play again.

By the seventh time the video ended, I heard the front door unlock.

He stepped inside with his luggage.

The moment he saw me, relief crossed his face.

“Feeling better? You haven’t eaten, have you? I picked up a cake on the way back.”

My gaze fell to the box in his hand.

That bakery only had a location near Claire’s apartment.

He walked over and kissed my forehead.

Then his eyes drifted toward my laptop.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

He glanced at the screen and laughed softly.

“You actually made a video?”

“We were so childish back then. I can’t believe the stuff I used to say. It’s embarrassing just looking at it now.”

The room went quiet.

I stared at the frozen image on my laptop.

My mind felt completely blank.

In the bottom corner of the screen, the clock turned midnight.

I finally spoke.

“Yesterday was our ten-year anniversary.”

He froze.

Every other year, he had started planning our anniversary weeks in advance.

This was the first time I had ever needed to remind him.

He was silent for a few seconds.

Then his gaze flicked toward the cake box on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry. My business trip ran late.

“I didn’t forget. I even brought cake.

“How about we celebrate now?”

I lowered my eyes and closed the laptop.

“I’m sick. I can’t eat anything that rich.”

Then I shook my head.

“Forget it.

“We don’t need to make it up.”