The Call That Undid Us

Her words hit like a gut punch.

"If you're so into Ray, just sign the papers. Be with him for real."

"Liam Lambert! When did I ever say I liked him?" she snapped, yanking the papers from my hand. "And where do you think you're even going? You're thirty, haven't worked in seven years, totally out of touch. Who's gonna hire you now? How are you gonna survive?"

Cold. Brutal.

Seven years ago, Nina and I were both prepping for interviews at one of the top companies in Avendale.

The day before, I got into a car crash while out grabbing fruit—for her. Shattered my leg. Three months in bed.

She went solo. Nailed it.

When the offer came, she hugged me tight, whispering, "Liam, you got hurt because of me. My job's just starting, and Sasha's still little. Stay home with her. I'll take care of us."

Thinking about it made my chest twist. I wanted to snap back, say something—anything—but the words just died in my throat.

Nina ripped the divorce papers to shreds. That's when her anger finally cooled.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say any of this. Don't bring it up again."

She turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Oh—where's the gift box?"

I kept my eyes down. "Bottom shelf of the closet."

"Got it."

She grabbed the sleek box, then hesitated at the doorway.

"Wait for me at home. I'll be back soon to celebrate our anniversary."

A bitter smile pulled at my lips.

So she had remembered our anniversary.

I'd seen that box yesterday.

Inside was a custom suit from a high-end brand. I'd wanted one for years but never pulled the trigger.

At first, I thought it was for me. My heart actually jumped.

Then I took it out.

Wrong size.

Found the card tucked inside.

[For Ray.]

Guess I'd been fooling myself the whole time.

That moment—more than anything—made me sure.

I wanted the divorce.

Maybe it was that weird call earlier, but I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the old call log—Nina's confession from way back.

Then I saw it.

The date had changed. It wasn't twelve years ago anymore.

It was eleven.

And I remembered what she'd said right before I hung up—"Whatever. I'll tell him next year instead."

My stomach dropped.

Could eighteen-year-old Nina actually mess with the future?

Before I could process it, the phone buzzed again.

I picked up. Nina's voice came through. "Who are you? Why do you have Liam's phone?"

I blurted without thinking, "I'm a god. I can see the future."

She didn't miss a beat. "I'm a materialist. I don't believe in gods or ghosts."

I hesitated.

Then she said, "But I'm curious. Let's hear your predictions. What do you know?"

Maybe if I told her, I could stop it.

I stared at the scar on my hand.

I had to try.

Maybe the past could still be rewritten.