His Regret, My Forgotten Ten Years

Casey POV

A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Young Casey's silence was a stark contrast to her earlier excitement. I could almost hear her young mind reeling, trying to reconcile her bright future with my bleak reality. The silence became almost unbearable.

Finally, her voice returned, thick with unshed tears. "You're lying," she choked out. "You have to be. Jordan would never hurt me. He saved my life once. He stood up to those guys who tried to hurt me. He protected me."

I sat on the cold ground beneath the oak tree, clutching the Nokia phone. My throat was dry, my eyes burned. Young Casey's unwavering faith in Jordan was a painful echo of my own. I remembered that night clearly. It was the winter break of our freshman year. We were walking back from a party, a little tipsy, laughing. Three older guys, clearly drunk, cornered us in an alley. They were aggressive, their words slurred and menacing. Panic seized me. I felt small and helpless.

Jordan stepped in front of me without hesitation. He didn't think twice. "Leave her alone," he commanded, his voice surprisingly firm. They just laughed. One of them lunged at him. Jordan fought them, a wild, desperate energy fueling him. He was smaller than them, but he didn't back down. He took punches, but he never let them get to me. He got a nasty scar above his left eye that night, a permanent reminder of his bravery. I thought he was my hero. I thought he would always protect me.

"He was different back then," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The memory felt distant, like a scene from a movie. "People change. Love changes."

"No," young Casey insisted, her voice rising in a desperate plea. "He wouldn't. He couldn't."

"He did worse," I said, the words heavy. "He didn't just hurt me with words. He hurt me physically too. He pushed me once, during an argument about another woman." The memory flashed, sharp and sickening. The sting of his hand, the shock of betrayal. It was the first crack in our foundation, a moment I tried to rationalize, to forgive.

"No!" Young Casey screamed, a raw sound of denial. "You're trying to trick me! You're not me! You're someone else, trying to ruin my life!"

I pulled one of Jordan's old love letters from the box. The ink was faded, but the words were clear: "My dearest Casey, I promise you forever. I will protect you always. You are my world." I traced the words with my thumb. "I wish I were lying," I whispered, not just to her, but to myself. "I wish this were a trick. But it's not. This is real." The truth was a blunt instrument, crushing hope.

"But you don't have to take my word for it," I said, my voice steadier now. "I'm going to tell you everything. Every betrayal. Every broken promise. And when I'm done, you can decide for yourself whether the man I married is the same one you think you love."