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.