Chapter 6

The other end of the phone was a suffocating silence.

Rain hammered against the window, just like the chaotic reality of this moment.

"Speak." My knuckles turned white gripping the phone. "What else did you see in your dream?"

Ethan's voice sounded somewhat dazed, even carrying unprecedented self-doubt. "I dreamed... Sophia spilled soup on the floor and I scolded her. Then you protected me like an angry little cat."

"But Violet, that's wrong."

His tone suddenly turned cold. The rationality of twenty-five-year-old Ethan Blackwell returned.

"My memory clearly says you didn't hold the thermos steady and burned Sophia. I even ignored you for three days over it. Why would I dream something completely opposite?"

My heart sank.

So when the past changed, the current version of him didn't simply disappear or reset.

Two sets of memories were battling in his mind. One was the cruel reality weathered by seven years. The other was the newly corrected memory, still carrying youthful passion.

"Ethan Blackwell," I asked softly, "which do you believe?"

"I..." He was at a loss for words.

Just then, Sophia's saccharine voice came through the phone. "Ethan, who's calling? It's so late."

Then came the rustling of fabric. Ethan seemed to cover the receiver, but I still faintly heard his murmur: "Nobody. Insurance telemarketer."

Insurance telemarketer.

His wife of seven years had become an insurance telemarketer in his words.

"Violet, I don't know what method you used to make me have these weird dreams, but I'm warning you. Don't try any superstitious nonsense to win me back. We signed the agreement. Stop pestering me."

The call ended.

I looked at the darkened screen. The twisting pain in my stomach attacked again. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited until I was dizzy.

This time, it was all dark red blood clots.

I rinsed my mouth and looked at myself in the mirror. Pale as a ghost.

It's not over yet.

As long as the current Ethan Blackwell remained this way, it meant the changes to the past weren't thorough enough.

A single event wasn't enough to shake seven years of cause and effect.

I dragged my weak body back to the bed and opened the sketchbook.

The writing had already updated.

"Why aren't you responding?"

"I just got Violet to sleep. Her eyes are swollen like two peaches. It breaks my heart."

"But that Sophia really is trouble. I just saw her leaving. The look in her eyes was vicious and scary. What should I do next?"

I picked up the pen. My hand shook, but my eyes were unusually determined.

To change the ending, I had to cut it off at the source.

"Ethan Blackwell, next comes college application season."

"Originally, Violet gave up her acceptance to the New York Academy of Fine Arts to be with you. She switched to Fashion Design at Riverdale Tech, only because it was two blocks from your Sports University."

"This time, you must stop her."

"Let her go to New York. Let her chase her dreams. Don't let her sacrifice herself for you."