I never thought it was possible to travel through time, to leap ten years into the future. But here I am. Thirty years old, stripped of all dignity in the dead of night, clinging to my husband's body like some shameless woman, begging him to make love to me. “Curtis, please… just give me a child.” He shoved me away, his voice cold and distant. “Not tonight, Jena. Ava is only twenty. She’s sick, and I promised her brother I’d take care of her.” The thirty-year-old me might have accepted this. But the twenty-year-old me? Never. I threw the divorce papers at him. “Let’s get a divorce. You like them young? Fine. But you don’t deserve me.” 1 The moment Curtis pushed me away, my soul was ripped from its thirty-year-old vessel and then violently shoved back in. I was twenty again, trapped in a thirty-year-old’s body. There were fine lines around my eyes, but the eyes themselves burned with the clear, bright fire of my youth. He was about to leave. My voice, as cold as ice, stopped him. “Wait.” Curtis paused, his impatience a palpable thing in the room. “Jena, are you done? Ava’s brother died for me. She’s just a kid, and she’s running a 102-degree fever. You think I shouldn’t go?” He scoffed. “There’s a limit to your jealousy, you know.” “I’m not stopping you,” I said, my voice flat and emotionless. “But let’s get a divorce.” The words came out before I could even think. I didn't know how I'd time-traveled, but the twenty-year-old me would never tolerate a husband with such blurred boundaries. I wouldn't swallow my pride and suffer in silence. The thirty-year-old me might have been weighed down by a decade of compromises, but the twenty-year-old me had nothing to lose and all the courage in the world to start over. Curtis’s hand, which had been adjusting his shirt, froze. A look of disbelief, then amusement, crossed his face. “Jena, have you lost your mind?” I frowned. “Why do you assume I’m throwing a tantrum? He saved your life, yes. If you feel you owe him, then pay that debt with your own life, but don’t you dare drag me into it.” He sneered. “So, just because I won’t sleep with you tonight, you want a divorce? Jena, don’t be so ungrateful.” “Ungrateful?” I stood up straighter, my voice firm and serious. “It’s precisely because I’m not content. You can’t fulfill the basic needs of a partner, so what’s wrong with me wanting a divorce?” For the twenty-year-old me, even granting him this much of an explanation was a monumental effort. The thirty-year-old Curtis demanded far too much. “A divorce?” He still didn’t believe me. “Jena, can you please be reasonable for once? Now you’re resorting to threats? I don’t want to hear this kind of talk from you ever again.” As if on cue, his phone rang again. He answered it, his voice instantly melting into a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the harsh tone he used with me. “Ava, I’m on my way.” “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, stepping in front of him, blocking his path. “We haven’t finished talking.” The thirty-year-old me loved this man. But the twenty-year-old me? I didn’t know him at all. He glared at me, a silent warning in his eyes. “Don’t push me, Jena. If anything happens to Ava because of this delay, I swear, you and I are finished.” I met his gaze without flinching. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to her. But you’re not going to delay me, either. If you have no objections, my lawyer will be in touch tomorrow.” “Do whatever you want,” he spat, slamming the door behind him. He was so certain I wouldn’t go through with it. He thought he had clipped my wings so thoroughly that I wouldn’t dare to fly. This time, he was wrong. After he left, I stumbled to the bathroom, still reeling from the impossible reality of time travel. The woman in the mirror was both familiar and a stranger. It was me, but not me. The corners of her eyes were etched with the passage of time, her skin no longer holding the tight, radiant glow of my twenties. A thirty-year-old woman. No job. No identity of her own. Pathetically hoping a child could solidify her position and hold onto a man whose heart had long since strayed. It was laughable. Utterly, tragically laughable. 2 Ten years of memories flooded my soul, a salty, bitter torrent of pain. At twenty, Jena had just won the national collegiate photography award, the golden trophy gleaming in her hands. An offer from the Paris College of Art sat on her desk. Back then, I stood in the spotlight, radiant and confident. Curtis was just one of many admirers in the crowd. After my graduation ceremony at twenty-two, a runaway truck had barreled towards me. It was Curtis who shoved me out of the way, without a thought for his own safety. His love felt so immense, so selfless. At twenty-two, I thought I had found my salvation. I believed, for the first time, that someone in this world truly loved me. I made peace with the world, with my past. I clipped my own wings, gave up my dream of studying abroad, and at twenty-four, I became Mrs. Thorne. For the first two years of our marriage, Curtis had treated me like a precious treasure, convincing me with a thousand sweet reasons to give up my career. But slowly, that love had soured. Just as the thirty-year-old Jena had betrayed the twenty-year-old me. But when did it all change? Was it after my third miscarriage, when he brought a young woman named Ava home, introducing her as the sister of the man who had died saving him? A man who hadn't saved him at all, but one of his close friends. With that as his excuse, he began a flirtatious, ambiguous relationship with her, and the thirty-year-old Jena was expected to just accept it. “What a joke,” I muttered, my fingers scrolling uncontrollably through the phone. My bank account balance was pitifully low; Curtis only gave me a basic living allowance. The chat history with my parents was filled with their requests for money. But what shocked me the most was the memo app, filled with pathetic little notes: “Remember Curtis hates cilantro.” “Pick up suit from dry cleaner’s.” “Mother-in-law’s birthday, prepare gift.” … Smack! I slammed my hand against the mirror. A web of cracks radiated from the point of impact, shattering the reflection of the thirty-year-old Jena into a thousand pieces. In every shard, the twenty-year-old me glared back in fury. “How could you let yourself become this?” The tears finally broke free. At twenty, I had sworn in my diary to become one of the world's greatest architects and photographers. And now? My camera was collecting dust, my dreams were molding in a dark corner, and my self-respect was being trampled under Curtis’s feet. The thirty-year-old me had become the very person I had always despised. My heart ached for her, but I hated her even more for betraying all my hard work, all my ambition. This was not the life I was meant to live. 3 After pulling myself together, I started organizing. One pile of documents for the divorce lawyer, another for reviving my dreams. My phone screen lit up. A message from Ava. “Mrs. Thorne, looks like your husband loves me more. I win.” The twenty-year-old me had no use for the title “Mrs. Thorne.” I was all thorns and sharp edges. I would never tolerate such a provocation. I would return it, doubled. I took a screenshot and sent it directly to Curtis’s work group chat. The twenty-year-old me didn’t care about propriety. I didn’t care about consequences. I just did what I felt I had to do. As expected, the group chat exploded. The notification sounds chimed relentlessly. I watched the screen with cold eyes as new messages popped up one after another: “What’s… going on?” “Has Ms. Vance lost her mind?” “Maybe we shouldn’t get involved in Mr. Thorne’s private affairs…” Every message was hesitant, dripping with shock and gossip, but no one dared to say anything outright, all too afraid of Curtis. A few brave souls sent a facepalm emoji, then quickly retracted it. Suddenly, my phone began to vibrate violently. The name “Curtis Thorne” glared from the screen. I held down the power button and shut it off. The world went silent. Ten years ago, when Curtis was pursuing me, he would have done anything I asked. But now, he had ways of getting what he wanted. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before my mother showed up at the door. 4 “Jena, did you have a fight with Curtis?” I ignored her. The thirty-year-old me might have made peace with this woman, but the twenty-year-old me hadn't. My mother frowned. “Listen to me. No matter what happened, you need to apologize to Curtis first.” I looked at her, my voice arctic. “What’s the matter? Afraid he’ll stop giving you money?” The color drained from her face. Her fingers nervously twisted the strap of her handbag. “How can you talk to your mother like that? I’m only trying to help you…” “Help me?” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Is that what you said when you and Dad divorced and dumped me at my uncle’s house?” The memories flooded back, a suffocating tide. When my parents divorced, my mother, out of love, took my older sister. My father took my younger brother, his heir. I was five years old, and I was a burden. I clung to their clothes, but they pushed me away without a second thought. “We can only take one each. We’re sorry. But don’t worry, as soon as we’re back on our feet, we’ll come for you.” I waited from the age of five until I was an adult. They never came. My sister’s words were cruel. “Jena, you’re just like your name. A wild thing nobody wants.” My brother echoed her. “Yeah, you’re as common as a weed. You’re just extra.” My childhood was filled with the harsh face of my aunt. “You useless freeloader, eating our food. Your own parents don’t want you. Why don’t you just go die?” My cousin would rip up my homework. I had to wash the whole family’s clothes in the freezing winter, my hands covered in chilblains. Back then, I envied my sister and brother. They were with our parents, eating what they wanted, getting what they wanted. I endured endless hunger. I had parents, a sister, a brother, but it was as if they were all dead. “Things were tough back then,” my mother’s voice trailed off. “I couldn’t support two children on my own.” “Tough?” I shot up from my seat. “Then where did the money for my sister’s study abroad program come from? Who bought my brother’s car? When I was at my uncle’s, so poor I couldn’t even afford sanitary pads, where were you?” Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes. “Your sister is having a hard time now. Her husband’s business failed…” “What does that have to do with me?” Her marriage failed? What about the thirty-year-old me? Was I supposed to sacrifice my dignity for this hollow semblance of family? I grabbed her purse and hurled it at the door. “Get out!” The contents spilled across the floor. A few receipts for designer handbags caught my eye. I picked one up. It was from the day before. They didn’t want me back. They just wanted my rich husband’s money to satisfy their own greed. My mother scrambled to grab the receipts. “No, that’s not…” she stammered. “Jena, Mom will make it up to you in the future.” “Take your things and get out.” The five-year-old Jena, digging through trash cans, needed a mother’s love. The twenty-year-old me had long since outgrown that need. I knew the only person who could save me was myself. Never anyone else. I tore the receipts to shreds. “From now on, whether you live or die has nothing to do with me.” Less than half an hour after my mother left, my father called. I stared at the word “Father” flashing on the screen, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Honey, your brother’s getting married. We’re still short 800,000 for the bride price…” I laughed out loud. “What? Your precious son can’t afford a wife?” “What kind of attitude is that!” he yelled. “Curtis Thorne is loaded. 800,000 is nothing to him.” “If he can’t even afford the bride price, maybe he doesn’t deserve to carry on the family name. If he’s destined to be the end of the line, why force it?” I hung up and blocked his number. The world was quiet, but the war between the twenty-year-old me and the thirty-year-old Jena raged on. I had worked so hard, pushed myself so relentlessly, never bowing my head to anyone, all to escape this life and build a better one. And the thirty-year-old her had sunk right back into the mire. How could you betray all those years of my effort? Marriage hadn’t been my salvation. It was a cage, more suffocating than the one I had escaped.
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