His Regret, My Forgotten Ten Years

My ten-year marriage to Jordan was over. I went back to our old college campus to dig up the time capsule we buried, ready to erase every memory of the man who broke me.

But inside, an old Nokia phone suddenly rang. The voice on the other end was bright, hopeful, and unmistakably my own from ten years ago.

"Are we married to Jordan? Are we happy?" she chirped.

I had to tell her the brutal truth. "We're getting divorced."

I told her how he cheated with his assistant, Bristol. I told her how, in the car crash that cost us our baby, his first instinct was to shield her, not his pregnant wife.

Her heartbroken sobs echoed the pain I no longer had the strength to feel. The final humiliation came when he forced me to apologize to Bristol after she faked a suicide attempt on a cliff.

He chose her, again and again, destroying the woman I used to be.

"I won't marry him," my past self finally said, her voice firm through the phone. "I'm taking the scholarship to London."

As she made the choice that would erase my entire life with him, my vision faded to black.

Chapter 1

Casey POV

Divorce papers lay on the kitchen counter, heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and a love that had turned to ash. My finger traced the crisp lines of Jordan Clark's signature, a bold, confident flourish that once thrilled me. Now, it just felt like a pronouncement of death. My decision was final. I watched the early morning light filter through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, much like the remnants of my life. I had to end it. I had to stop the pain.

I grabbed a small, worn shovel from the garage. The cool metal felt grounding in my hand. My car hummed to life, carrying me away from the empty house and the memories that choked me. I drove towards our old college campus, a place brimming with ghosts of a happier past. The old oak tree stood tall, its branches reaching like gnarled fingers towards the sky. Jordan and I had carved our initials into its bark a decade ago. Freshmen in love, naive and full of promises.

We buried a time capsule beneath this tree. Jordan had insisted. He said it was a testament to our eternal love, a promise we would unearth it on our silver anniversary. I remembered the warmth of his hand in mine, the eager light in his eyes. He talked about our future, our children, our golden years. My heart ached then, a phantom pain for a future that would never exist. Jordan's words were a distant echo. They were empty.

The shovel hit something solid. I dug faster, the soil crumbling away. A small, tarnished metal box emerged, cold and heavy. I brushed off the dirt, my fingers trembling slightly. This box held the relics of a life I no longer wanted.

I pried open the lid. Inside, faded photographs showed our smiling faces, arms wrapped around each other. Crinkled love letters, written in Jordan's confident hand, spoke of devotion and an unwavering future. I pulled out a handful of intricately folded paper stars, each one a wish I had made for us. They felt frail, insignificant now.

Then, my fingers closed around an old Nokia phone, a relic from a simpler time. Jordan and I bought matching ones in our freshman year. We spent hours on them, texting silly messages, planning our days, sharing secrets. It was our lifeline. I remembered him saying, "This phone will connect us, no matter where we are." The irony stung.

I held the phone in my palm, its weight familiar. I planned to throw it away, toss it into the river, sever all ties to the past. This phone represented a past I desperately needed to erase.

Suddenly, the phone vibrated, an old-fashioned buzz that startled me. It rattled in my hand, then the screen flickered to life, displaying an incoming call. The number was unknown. My breath caught. I stared, frozen, for a long moment. No one used these phones anymore. This was impossible.

My thumb moved on its own, answering the call. The line crackled.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" A voice, bright and full of youthful energy, filled my ear. It was undeniably my own voice. Younger. Hopeful.

"Who is this?" I managed, my voice hoarse.

"It's Casey! From the past! Is this future Casey? Oh my god, it worked! Jordan said it would!" Young Casey shrieked with excitement. "Are you really me? Tell me something only I would know!"

"My favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip," I said, the words tasting like ash.

"Oh my god, it IS you!" Young Casey laughed, a clear, joyful sound that twisted my gut. "This is amazing! I can't believe it! We're talking to ourselves!" Her voice bubbled with questions. "Are we married to Jordan? Do we have kids? Are we happy? Tell me everything!"

Each question was a stab. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. How could I tell her? How could I shatter that beautiful, naive hope? My throat felt constricted.

"Future me? Why aren't you answering? Are you crying? Oh no, did something bad happen?" Young Casey's voice softened, laced with concern.

I closed my eyes. The truth pushed its way out, raw and brutal.

"We're getting divorced," I said, the words flat and lifeless.

A shocked silence fell on the other end. Young Casey's joyful chatter died. A small gasp escaped her lips.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's not true. You're lying. Jordan loves me. He would never..."

"He did," I cut her off, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "He did."

"But... but why?" she pleaded, her voice cracking. "What happened?"

"Listen to me, past self," I said, ignoring her question. I needed to act. This was my chance. "Tomorrow, after the college entrance exam, Jordan will propose to you under the Ferris wheel. He will tell you he loves you. He will promise you forever."

"He will?" Her voice was a fragile whisper, a flicker of hope amidst the shock.

"He will," I confirmed. "But you cannot accept. You must not. Remember that scholarship offer you got for architecture school in London? Accept it. Go to London. Please, just don't say yes to Jordan." I begged, my voice cracking. "Don't marry him." My desperation was a physical ache.

I had no idea if this call was real or a hallucination born from a decade of pain. But if there was even the smallest chance that somewhere, somewhen, a younger version of me could be spared this hell-I had to try.