The Call That Undid Us

My chest tightened. Something was off—I could feel it. I took off running for the bar.

Nina's voice looped in my head: "Then tell me—how exactly do I hurt him in the future?"

Right before I got there, I clenched my jaw, unlocked my phone, and called 18-year-old Nina.

'Nina, you better listen up. Thirty-year-old you wrecked everything.'

The second I stepped inside, I saw her. Nina was straight-up brawling with another woman.

Total chaos—chairs flipped, tables sideways, glass everywhere.

I was about to jump in when Nina's secretary, Poppy, grabbed my arm.

"Mr. Lambert, please—don't. You could get hurt."

I frowned. "This isn't like her. What happened?"

She looked down, sighing. "Some women were all over Ray. Ms. Reid snapped and started swinging—"

Poppy froze, shot me a glance, then scrambled, "I-I mean, I was just rambling. Don't take it the wrong way."

I didn't answer. My eyes were already locked on Nina.

And then my stomach dropped.

Sasha—my six-year-old—had somehow wandered into the fight.

Tiny fists up, she yelled, "I'll beat you up! Stop bullying Mr. Chapman!"

The woman snapped, grabbed a bottle, and raised it.

"No!"

I didn't think—I just moved. Dove forward, yanked Sasha into my arms—

The bottle smashed against my back.

Glass everywhere.

Warm blood soaked through my shirt in seconds. Every twitch sent pain knifing down my spine.

I couldn't hold back a groan.

Then someone in the crowd yelled, "Ray passed out!"

"What?" Nina didn't blink. She shoved the woman aside and bolted toward the noise like I wasn't even there.

"Ray? Ray, wake up!"

He was flat on the floor, not moving.

Someone nearby said, "He tried grabbing the kid. Might've caught a shard."

Nina looked freaked. She called for help and took off with a group, clutching Ray.

Sasha stared up at me, eyes huge. "Daddy, are you here to take me home?"

But before I could answer, she slipped out of my arms.

She took off after Nina, yelling, "Mom, wait! I wanna help take care of Mr. Chapman too!"

I stood there, bleeding and pale, watching them walk away—mother and daughter, side by side.

For a second, I'd hoped maybe Nina and Sasha still cared. Just a little.

But nah.

That hit harder than the bottle.

She might not be my wife much longer, but after everything—we were just strangers now. Not even a flicker left.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself up.

Poppy ran over. "Mr. Lambert, are you okay? I saw you take that bottle for Sasha..."

She reached out, but the second her hand brushed my back, she froze.

"Oh my god. You're bleeding bad! This is serious. How did Ms. Reid not even notice?"

She ended up driving me to the hospital. They patched me up.

I went home alone.

Just like I figured—Nina and Sasha still weren't back.

I checked the old phone. No clue when the call had dropped.

Not long after, it buzzed again. I picked up.

Nina's voice came through. "You're Liam from the future, aren't you?"

My fingers twitched. I didn't say a word—but she knew.

She kept going. "What you told me earlier—about the awful stuff I said to Liam—that wasn't a guess, was it? You lived through that."

A bitter smile crept in. "Yeah."

"Liam, the way I hurt you in the future... That's why you begged me to stay away, isn't it?"

"Right."

Silence.

Then she asked, "Do you regret marrying me?"

I took a breath. "Yeah. I do."

"...Okay. Got it."

She hung up.

My chest felt like it was caving in. I couldn't even breathe right.

I didn't know what young Nina would choose—but I knew one thing: it was time to think about my own future.

I was done.

Done with Nina.

Done with this so-called family.

I yanked off the bloody shirt, threw on something clean.

Grabbed the suitcase I'd already packed.

Printed a fresh set of divorce papers.

Signed them.

The second I set the pen down, the front door slammed open. Nina walked in with Sasha, both of them looking wiped.

The moment she saw the suitcase, her temper lit up.

"Liam, you're thirty. Stop acting like a teenager."

Then her eyes landed on the papers. Her smile went sharp.

"You printed another one? Really? That desperate to leave me?"

I kept my voice calm. "I'm serious, Nina. I don't love you anymore. I'm done. Let's get divorced."

Her eyes blew wide. She stared me down, furious—then suddenly cracked up.

"Divorce? With me? Not happening. Ever."

She reached for the papers, ready to rip them apart.

I panicked and lunged—but my body slipped right through hers.

I stumbled, catching the table, heart slamming in my chest.

Then a brutal buzz ripped through my head.

New memories crashed in all at once:

Nina—eighteen-year-old Nina—had rejected my confession.