Chapter 1

Following the death of my child, my mind shattered.

Food turned to ash in my mouth. Days blurred into a gray, indistinct haze. Sarah Harding hired the country's top psychologist for me, tending to my every need for over six months.

I didn't want to be a burden anymore. I fought to cooperate with the treatment, forcing myself to read, to write, to anchor myself in reality. I tried every trick to shift my focus away from the grief.

Just as the fog began to lift, a line of text materialized on the page of my diary.

*"Leave Sarah Harding. If you don't, you will die a miserable death."*

——

My first instinct was resignation—my psychosis had returned.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes, but the words didn't vanish. Instead, fresh red ink began bleeding onto the paper, forming new sentences, line after terrifying line.

*"Jayden Henson, I am you, ten years in the future."*

*"I know this sounds impossible, but you must listen."*

*"Sarah Harding betrayed you long ago. The child's death? She is involved."*

*"In three months, she will take you to Bali for a 'vacation.' She will conceive her lover's child there."*

*"She will gaslight you, claiming your condition is worsening, and commit you to a mental asylum."*

*"When you need her most, Sarah will take your money, marry her lover, and raise their family on your grave."*

*"So... while there is still time, run."*

*"Don't let yourself be trapped."*

The handwriting was mine. The tone was mine.

But the words—those belonged to a nightmare I couldn't comprehend.

The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.

The bedroom door creaked open. Sarah walked in.

Exhaustion hung on her like a second skin. Her shoulders slumped as she collapsed onto the bed beside me, her voice a soft purr laced with sweetness that suddenly felt cloying.

"Hubby, are you feeling any better today?" She nuzzled closer. "I've been so busy lately. I hate that I can't be here with you. Once this crunch time is over, let's go to Bali. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

*Bali?*

My heart slammed against my ribs.

My gaze flicked involuntarily to the notebook on the nightstand. A cold seed of suspicion took root in my gut.

The woman in my arms had her eyes closed, her breathing even. Fatigue was etched into her delicate features. After our baby died, Sarah had been devastated. But she buried her grief to be my pillar. I had seen her weeping silently on the balcony, only to turn around with a forced smile the moment she sensed my presence.

If not for her patience, her unwavering support, I would have ended it all months ago.

Sarah, who loved me. Sarah, who was so gentle, so family-oriented.

Could she really... cheat?

The diary was too bizarre. A hallucination.

It had to be.

But the doubt gnawed at me. Hesitantly, I reached for her phone.

The password was still my birthday. The wallpaper was still us at eighteen, young and untouched by tragedy.

No dating apps. No games. I opened WeChat. Aside from a wall of work-related messages, the only pinned chat was me. Everything was pristine.

Flawless.

The tension in my chest uncoiled slightly. A long, ragged sigh escaped me.

*It's the sickness,* I told myself. *The doctor warned me. Long-term use of the medication can cause auditory and visual hallucinations.*