Letters From My Hopeful Past

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Five months into my pregnancy, I received a letter from my past self written five years ago.

The pages were filled with hope for the future.

Dear Serena, have you married Ethan, the one who loves you most?

Are you two happy now? Do you have children?

Do you still remember your most important promise to each other?

I stood there in a daze, unable to recall what that so-called promise even was.

The sounds from the bedroom grew unmistakably clear. Ethan walked out with his arms around his secretary, her skin covered with marks.

"Kiki doesn't like the peach-flavored ones. Go downstairs and buy a new box."

He paused, his gaze dropping to my swollen belly. When he spoke again, there was something almost charitable in his tone.

"Stop playing games. After you have the baby, you can still be Mrs. Whitmore."

I glanced down at the letter in my hand, picked up a pen, and wrote my reply to the girl I used to be.

"Loving him was enough. There's no reason to hold on to how it ends."

After all, the Ethan who had once emptied his savings to pull me back from the edge of death that man had died the day he first cheated, two years ago.

"Ethan, my sister is still pregnant. Besides, something like this how can you ask her to go buy it..."

Chelsea wound herself around Ethan like a vine, her cheeks flushed, playing the picture of shy innocence.

"It's not like it's the first time. Since when did you get modest? You weren't exactly shy five minutes ago."

Ethan gave her a squeeze, his words growing uglier by the second.

"I'll go get them."

A wave of sickly-sweet perfume mixed with the smell of sex hit me in the face. My stomach turned.

I swallowed the urge to gag, answered quietly, tucked the letter into my pocket, and started toward the door.

His gaze snagged on the letter in my hand. A flicker of suspicion crossed his eyes.

He crossed the room in a few long strides and snatched it from me. When he read what was written inside, his expression softened.

His voice took on a rare gentleness.

"Serena, if you just behave, I'll make time to come to your next prenatal appointment..."

I cut him off before I could stop myself. "Don't bother."

The warmth on Ethan's face vanished. "Serena, don't push your luck."

Chelsea caught the shift in his voice. Her eyes darkened for just a moment before she drifted to my side, her tone turning sweeter.

"Serena, are you still upset with me? I genuinely have feelings for Ethan. I don't even care that I'm not his wife..."

"And you're pregnant right now. Ethan just doesn't want to hurt you or the baby. But men have needs that's all this is between him and me..."

Her face wore a pitiful expression, but her eyes held something sharp. Without warning, her manicured nails drove hard into my palm.

The pain drained the color from my face. I yanked my hand away on instinct.

Chelsea let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, landing on the floor. Her eyes went red immediately, and she looked utterly helpless.

"Serena, apologize to Kiki. Now."

Ethan gathered Chelsea into his arms with careful hands, eyes full of concern as he studied the scrape on her palm.

When he turned back to me, his face held nothing but cold indifference.

His stare cut right through me. Without thinking, I started to explain myself.

"She was the one who "

The words died in my throat under his deepening glare.

Of course. Ethan hadn't believed me in a long time.

The day I found out about his first affair the day I bit that woman badly enough to leave scars that was the day he stopped believing me.

Thinking about it now, I felt something hollow settle in my chest.

So I said nothing.

"Ethan, it's okay, it doesn't hurt. Serena was probably just upset. Please don't fight with her because of me..."

Chelsea's voice floated up again, and Ethan's expression went completely cold.

He pressed his lips gently to Chelsea's forehead, his eyes full of tenderness.

"Kiki, I know you're easygoing, but you don't have to put up with everything she does. She owes you an apology, and she's going to give you one."

"Serena. Last chance. Are you going to apologize or not?"

I stared at Chelsea, smug and satisfied in Ethan's arms, and felt the man I'd spent ten years with become a stranger.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Unbelievable."

"Take Serena to the isolation room. She can stay there until she's ready to apologize."

My eyes flew open. The color drained from my face.

"Ethan, I'm pregnant!" I stared at him in disbelief, my voice shaking. He stood there, expression completely blank.

He knew I had claustrophobia. He knew and he was still doing this.

"Don't want to go? Then apologize to Kiki."

His tone was flat. Non-negotiable.

The memory of those days in the isolation room the despair, the dark flooded back all at once.

Every muscle in my body went rigid. I searched his face, looking desperately for any trace of hesitation, any hint of mercy.

There was none.

I forced a small, hollow smile. My nails bit into my palm. And slowly, I lowered my head.

"Ethan, please don't force her if she doesn't want to go..." Chelsea's voice wavered softly.

"It's too late for an apology now. You're still going to that room. Think of it as a lesson. Next time, maybe you'll remember to behave."

Ethan delivered his verdict without even looking up.

Ten minutes later, two security guards dragged me down the hallway to the door of the isolation room.

The darkness of that heavy door made me start shaking before I even touched it. Whatever composure I'd been holding together crumbled completely. I begged and struggled, but Ethan and Chelsea just stood to the side and watched with cold eyes.

"It's just being sent to your room. Why are you making such a scene?"

Until I broke down completely, sobbing, and screamed: "Ethan, I want a divorce!"

He laughed.

He walked over, tilted my chin up, and gently wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. Something almost like pity moved across his face.

"Serena, I gave you your life back. What exactly gives you the right to talk about divorce?"

Then he let go of my chin, shook out his hand like he'd touched something unpleasant, and turned away. "Take her inside."

In the last second before the door of the isolation room slammed shut, I saw Ethan reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind Chelsea's ear, his eyes soft and full of warmth.

The heart that had already been broken a thousand times finally shattered for good.

Ethan. Loving you is exhausting. I don't want to do it anymore.

As my consciousness faded, I found myself drifting back to five years ago.

I had just graduated college. My parents had never paid much attention to me, but I had Ethan a long-distance boyfriend who loved me fiercely.

I thought we'd just keep walking forward together, happy and steady, for the rest of our lives.

Then a routine check-up changed everything. I was diagnosed with stage-two lung cancer.

Cancer. At twenty-three, it felt like a word that belonged to someone else's life entirely.

When my parents found out, they blocked my number. The last thing they said to me was: "Your brother still needs money for a wedding and a house. We don't have anything left for your medical bills."

I gave up. I was ready to let go.

It was Ethan who came back for me. He quit his job at a top firm, drove across the country, sold the condo his parents had bought him, and spent every dollar he had to drag me back from the edge.

Watching his face grow more exhausted and hollow with every passing week, I couldn't bear it. I tried to talk him into letting me stop treatment more than once.

He just pulled me close, quietly, and held on.

"Serena, I'm going to get you better. We're going to be together for a long, long time."

"Please don't give up. Please."

His voice trembled. There was something almost like begging in it.

His tears soaked through the thin fabric of my hospital gown.

That night, I cried under the covers until morning.

There was still someone in the world who loved me like that. I had to keep living.

Maybe the universe took pity on me. The cancer cells slowly stopped spreading.

A year later, I walked out of the hospital. It felt like a miracle.

To make sure I had the best possible care, Ethan had started a company with a few friends while I was still in treatment.

He got busier. But he still cooked for me every day, reminded me to take my medication, and drove me to every follow-up appointment without fail.

Everyone around me said I was lucky to have found someone like him.

I believed them.

His company kept growing. He proposed. We got married in front of the people we loved most.

In our second year of marriage, I got pregnant. When he found out, he spun me around and around in his arms, laughing, his eyes bright with a happiness that made my own eyes sting.

I thought there was probably no one in the world who could love me more than Ethan did.

Then, in my third month of pregnancy, he cheated.

I drove over and walked in on the woman climbing off him, her skin marked all over. In that moment, my mind went blank except for fury and devastation, and I threw myself at her.

I bit her badly enough to scar her face. And the price I paid for it was

My three-month-old baby. Gone. Kicked out of me by Ethan in his rage.

Afterward, Ethan apologized again and again. He made promises, over and over.

But I had already changed. I became anxious, suspicious, unable to tolerate any woman near him. I would spiral even when he went to meet a business partner.

The final straw came when I threw coffee in a client's face. Ethan reached his limit. He locked me in the isolation room.

"Serena, you need to calm down."

The darkness warped something inside me. I came out of that room with claustrophobia that never went away.

A month later, I was finally let out. And, just as he'd wanted, I had become quiet. Obedient.

After that, the women in Ethan's life rotated in and out. I learned not to see them.

No arguments. No scenes.

"Why hasn't this patient woken up yet? That doesn't seem right."

Voices cut through the haze. I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses.

"Ms. Reed, we couldn't reach any of your family members. The security guard who brought you in paid the deposit and then left..."

"Doctor, just tell me directly. I can make my own decisions." My voice came out rough. The ache in my abdomen told me why they were all standing there.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Reed. The baby's heart has stopped beating. Your own body isn't in a suitable state to continue the pregnancy, and we need to perform a procedure to remove the fetus."

The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

He understood how painful it would be to deliver this news.

"Okay. I understand. Please schedule the procedure."

"...Are you sure you've thought this through?"

"I have."

"Your file shows you're married. Would you like to discuss this with your husband first?"

"No."

After the doctors and nurses left, the room went quiet.

I pulled back the blanket and found myself reaching down, touching the curve of my belly without thinking.

Even though I had no choice, a dull, deep pain kept moving through my chest in slow waves.

This was my baby.

It should have been born safe. It should have grown up healthy.

But now...

The tears came before I could stop them.

The evening before I was discharged, Ethan called. His voice was measured, almost soothing.

"Things have been hectic at the company this week. I'll come pick you up when you're discharged."

I answered the way he liked. "Okay."

But discharge day came and went. I waited from sunrise to dark. He never showed.

I should have known. But there had still been that small, stubborn thread of hope I couldn't quite cut.

I took a cab back to the estate. As I reached the front door, the housekeeper met me with a complicated expression and handed me a small stack of envelopes.

The sender: myself. The recipient: also myself.

I knew immediately. Letters from the girl I had been five years ago.

I folded each one carefully and tucked them into my pocket, then walked toward the door.

I hadn't even made it inside when I heard the sound of shattering glass.

My chest tightened. I moved quickly toward the noise.

Chelsea was standing at the wooden display cabinet. A crystal urn lay in pieces at her feet.

And the ashes I had once gathered, piece by piece, with my own hands my baby's ashes were now ground under her heel.

I went completely still. My eyes locked on the floor. My vision went red.

"Who told you to touch that?"

"Ethan said he needed the cabinet cleared out for my shoe collection. You might want to find somewhere else for your stuff, Serena."

Chelsea's eyes were full of contempt.

"You're going to pay for this." The hatred rose up so fast I couldn't contain it. I thought of that baby who never got to take a single breath. My hand came down hard across her face.

She staggered back and fell onto the floor covered in broken glass.

By the time Ethan rushed in, I was on top of Chelsea with my teeth sunk into her wrist. Blood ran down the corner of my mouth.

"Serena! Are you insane? Let go!"

"Ethan! She's going to kill me! She's going to kill me help me, please!" Chelsea was too terrified by the look in my eyes to even scream properly. She held her voice in until she saw Ethan, and then she completely fell apart.

In the end, I bit down and didn't stop. Chelsea passed out from the pain.

I didn't pay attention to the chaos erupting around me. I just walked slowly to the cabinet and began carefully picking up what remained of the ashes scattered on the floor.

That was my first child.

Half an hour later, Chelsea's wounds were finally under control.

Only then did Ethan seem to remember I existed. He looked at me still kneeling on the floor, still gathering ashes one by one and his expression darkened further.

"Serena. Give me a reason."

Silence.

"Tell me why!"

Still nothing.

He grabbed the small urn from my hands. I spun around instantly, my face changing, panic breaking through.

"She destroyed our baby's ashes!"

"Ethan... that was our child..."

How could he expect me not to hate her?

Tears were running down my face. I couldn't form words anymore.

Ethan froze. The urn was still in his hand. For a moment, his expression went completely blank.

After a long pause, he slowly crouched down and placed the urn back in my hands.

"Serena... we can still have another child. You need to let yourself move forward..."

I looked down at the urn. The doctor's words came back to me. My tears fell without a sound.

Ethan. We won't have another child. Not with you. Not ever.

After that day, Ethan's attitude toward me softened. With his tacit approval, I was given more freedom than I'd had in years.

I kept writing back and forth with my past self. Ethan caught a glimpse of the letters a few times and said nothing about it. He probably assumed it was just some personal journaling habit harmless and odd.

I told my younger self everything. Every detail of the five years that had passed.

"Ethan is going to change. He's going to stop loving you."

The last letter I received from her asked a single question:

"Why doesn't Ethan love you anymore?"

Why doesn't he love me anymore?

"That's a question you'll have to ask him yourself."

Half a month later, I went to the hospital alone for the procedure.

Just before they wheeled me through the doors, I heard urgent footsteps in the hallway, and then Ethan's voice, sharp and breathless.

"Doctor, I don't consent. I am Serena's husband I do not consent to this procedure."

He grabbed my hand. His grip was tight, his voice running fast, with an edge of fury underneath it.

"Come home with me. We can talk about this. The baby is innocent in all of this."

He looked like he genuinely cared about the child.

But it was already too late. The baby had no heartbeat.

"Ms. Reed, a procedure like this does require a family member's signature. Is there someone who "

"I'll sign."