A Call From My Future Mistress

The tenth time I took Gavin to court for divorce, the judge threw it out again. Standing on the courthouse steps under the harsh midday sun, Gavin handed me the rejection order. "Helen, it’s been ten times now," he sighed, his voice laced with practiced patience. "When are you finally going to believe that I never cheated on you?" My parents and my brother stood right beside him, looking at me like I was a hysterical child throwing an extended tantrum. "Helen, stop this madness," my mother pleaded, rubbing her temples. "You can’t keep demanding a divorce just because of a lipstick stain on his collar from three years ago. You’ve been married for five years. Don't you know what kind of man Gavin is?" "Besides that stain, have you found a single shred of actual proof?" my brother, Connor, added, his forehead creased in irritation. The only person standing in my corner was my best friend, Betty. As a high-powered family attorney, she had willingly taken on my case, acting as my legal counsel through every humiliating defeat. I looked at Gavin’s face—so full of tragic, misunderstood affection—and then at my exasperated family. I thought about how ugly and exhausting the last three years had been. The weight of it pressed down on my chest until I could barely breathe. I opened my mouth, on the verge of telling them all that I was done. That I wouldn't drag us through the mud anymore. Then my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a video call. When I picked up, the screen lit up with a face I recognized instantly, yet barely understood: it was Betty, but older—a decade older. Her eyes were hollowed out by bone-deep exhaustion, her skin lined with weary years. "If you want to know who Gavin was sleeping with," the voice from ten years in the future rasped, trembling with fatigue, "I'll tell you. It was me." "I’m begging you, Helen, please divorce him. I’m sending you every piece of evidence from back then. If you file again with these, the judge will grant it." "I can't survive another decade hiding in your shadow. I just want my child to have a legitimate father." My fingers froze around the phone. The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. A second later, a flurry of notification pings shattered the silence, delivering a flood of high-resolution photos directly to my screen. Photos of Gavin and my best friend, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing with frantic, breathless passion. … My fingertips went ice-cold. The jarring images burned into the back of my retinas, searing themselves into my memory. Beside me, the real-time Betty put a gentle, soothing hand on my shoulder. "Helen? What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." Her eyes were wide with genuine, tender concern—a flawless mirror image of the woman who had just ruined my life from ten years in the future. My best friend of over twenty years. The girl I had grown up with, the girl I had poured my heart and soul into protecting. She was the filthiest secret rotting at the foundation of my marriage. Gavin stepped forward, taking my numb hand into his warm, firm grip. "Helen, please, stop letting your mind spiral. It’s my fault. I shouldn't have let some drunk client get lipstick on my collar years ago and make you feel insecure. But you have to trust me—I have never, ever done anything to betray you. Okay?" My parents and Connor all stared at me, their eyes shining with eager anticipation. A minute ago, I would have thought they were looking at me out of concern for my mental health. But now, as the icy truth settled into my bones, I realized the horrifying reality: they weren't trying to comfort me. They were protecting Betty. I swallowed hard, forcing down the violent tremble in my throat. I drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Okay," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Gavin, I believe you." "I won't file for divorce again." The moment the words left my lips, a collective wave of relief washed over the group. Shoulder muscles relaxed. Tension evaporated. A second later, Gavin’s phone chimed. He glanced at the screen, his face smoothing into a practiced, casual mask. "An urgent fire at the office. I need to go handle it." Immediately, as if on cue, my parents and Connor suddenly remembered pressing errands of their own. Finally, Betty patted my arm, her smile radiant and blindingly sharp. "I’m so glad you came to your senses, Val. I have to run to a client meeting now, so I can't drive you back. Take care, okay?" One by one, they turned and walked toward the parking lot. What a incredible coincidence. I didn't say a word. I simply stepped out to the curb and hailed a taxi. As my cab pulled away from the curb, I watched through the tinted window as the picture-perfect illusion shattered in real-time. My husband. My adoring parents. My protective brother. My fiercely loyal best friend. They all walked over to Gavin’s SUV together, laughing, chatting, and climbing inside. Leaving only me behind. My hands shook violently as I dialed the mysterious number back. The future Betty answered on the second ring, her voice raspy and drained of life. "You saw the photos, didn't you? Please... take the evidence and leave him. Gavin and I started out consumed by guilt. We kept it hidden from you for years, but I can't take it anymore. We love each other. I don't want to live in the shadows forever, and I won't let my child grow up as a dirty secret." "Do everyone a favor, Helen. File for divorce." Before I could demand an answer, she hung up. I stared down at the screen, taking a slow, deep breath before tapping open the digital file. The first was a video clip dated five years ago—my wedding day. In the venue's private bridal suite, Betty, wearing a dusty-rose bridesmaid dress, was pinned against the wall by Gavin in his tailored tuxedo. She was breathless, whispering a feeble protest. "Gavin... stop... it’s Helen's wedding day. We can't..." Gavin’s hands gripped her waist tighter, his mouth pressing greedily against her neck. "Betty, after today, I’m legally her husband. I can't stand the thought of losing you." My wedding day. The day I had cherished as the happiest moment of my life. While I was fixing my veil, my groom was making out with my maid of honor. A heavy, scalding tear spilled over my lashes, splashing onto the screen. I swiped to the next file. It was a photograph dated two years ago—the night I suffered severe acute appendicitis and underwent emergency surgery alone because no one was there to sign my intake consent forms. In the photo, Gavin was standing at the peak of a glowing Ferris wheel under a canopy of stars, pressing a tender kiss against Betty's forehead. There were hundreds of photos. Hundreds of timestamps. A mountain of undeniable proof documenting a epic, enduring love story between my husband and my best friend. Enough love to move mountains. And enough betrayal to tear my heart into jagged, irreparable pieces. ... When the taxi finally pulled up to the location tagged in Betty's future messages, I realized it was the most exclusive, high-end restaurant in the city. A place I had begged Gavin to take me to for years. A place he had always dismissed, claiming he was "too busy with work" to waste time on overpriced dinners. I walked inside and followed the quiet hallway toward the private VIP rooms. Stopping just outside the heavy mahogany door, the loud, joyous sounds of my family’s laughter drifted through the crack. "Cheers, everyone!" my mother’s voice rang out merrily. "Tonight we celebrate! Helen is finally dropping this ridiculous obsession! We finally have some peace!" Connor chimed in with a laugh. "Now Gavin and Betty can breathe easy. No more tiptoeing around, worrying that Helen's going to catch on." Then came Gavin’s voice, low and gentle. "Honestly, I wanted to come clean years ago. But Betty is too good-natured. She felt so guilty about Helen, and I was terrified of how fragile Helen would react, so we kept dragging it out." Betty’s soft sigh sounded as if she were leaning directly against Gavin’s chest. "I couldn't help it. Helen was my best friend. How could I bear to be the reason her marriage blew up?" I stood frozen in the cold corridor, blood running thick and icy in my veins. I felt like an intruder—a ghost eavesdropping on a happy family reunion that I was never meant to be a part of. When had she become more of a daughter to my parents than I was? When we were in eighth grade, Betty's parents died in a sudden, tragic car crash, leaving her an orphan overnight. I was the one who fell to my knees and wept, begging my parents to take her in, to foster her, to give her a home. And slowly, subtly, the warmth of my family shifted away from me and wrapped around her. In high school, my parents never made it to my parent-teacher conferences. They were always at Betty's, introducing her proud and loud as their "darling girl." The entire school knew the rich, charitable family that had adopted a poor, tragic orphan—and entirely forgot that I was their biological daughter. Once, when Betty and I were cornered and beaten by a gang of local bullies after school, we both ended up bruised and bloody. But when Connor rushed to the scene, his eyes landed on Betty's scratches first. He didn't check on me. Instead, he whirled around and screamed at my bleeding face: "What is wrong with you, Helen?! How could you let Betty get hurt? Why didn't you protect her?!" Back then, I was stupid enough to comfort myself with excuses. "Betty is an orphan," I had thought. "She’s suffered so much. It’s only right that they love her a little extra." Looking back now, I had protected her for ten whole years. And in return, she had quietly taken my husband, my family, and my life. I pulled out my phone, pulled up my new lawyer's contact, and typed a quick message: "File the divorce petition again. I’m sending you the evidence now." The moment I pressed send, the mahogany door swung open. Gavin stepped out, holding an empty wine glass. When his eyes met mine, a flicker of raw panic flashed across his face. A second later, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw the emergency notice from his legal team, and the panic on his face instantly curdled into deep, disgusted annoyance. "Helen? Are you out of your mind?!" he barked, stepping into the hall. "You literally just stood outside the courthouse and said you believed me! And the second my back is turned, you file again?! Following me here—don't you ever get tired of being this psychotic?" The laughter inside the private room ground to a sudden halt. My mother barged out first, her face twisted in rage. "Helen! How can you be so unhinged?! Gavin has bent over backward for you, and you’re still pulling this paranoid crap?" "Is your heart really that bitter?" she yelled. "When is it ever going to end?!" Connor followed close behind, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "Give it a rest, Helen. Stop acting like such a dramatic, sensitive psycho." Betty rushed out last, her eyes wide with innocent worry. She reached out to take my arm. "Helen, I thought we cleared up the misunderstanding? Why are you..." I whirled around and slapped her hand away with every ounce of strength I had left. The force sent her staggering backward. Instantly, Gavin lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her protectively against his chest. I looked at the two of them, framed by my parents and my brother standing like a human shield behind them. The sheer absurdity of it burned through my chest like liquid fire. "Stop the pathetic act," I rasped, my voice raw and sharp. "You don't need to play innocent anymore." "Betty, you’re the dirty little secret Gavin’s been hiding for years, aren't you? You’re nothing but a home-wrecking leech." "CRACK." A sharp, deafening strike exploded across the corridor. A wave of blinding, burning pain seared across my left cheek. I stumbled back, my head ringing. My father’s hand remained suspended in the air. He had put every bit of his strength into that slap. "Helen Lawson!" he roared. My mother swept in right behind him, her finger jabbed inches from my nose. "How dare you say something so vile to Betty! Did we raise an ungrateful, vicious monster?! To throw accusations around like that!" Connor stepped in front of Betty, glaring at me with pure hatred. "You make me sick." I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my lip, keeping my eyes locked on Betty, who was already sobbing hysterically into Gavin's shirt. "Why aren't you talking, Betty?" I whispered, my voice trembling with bitter rage. "Cat got your tongue now that the truth is out?" Gavin stepped forward, shielding her entirely with his body. "Fine!" he snarled, his voice echoing down the hall. "Betty and I have been together! But we have NEVER wronged you! For five years, I have been a flawless husband! I provided for you, built a home for you, gave you a luxurious life! And Betty felt so eaten alive by guilt that she yielded to you at every turn, constantly putting your feelings first!" "What more could you possibly want?!" he spat. "What right do you have to complain?!" Betty broke into ragged sobs, sinking to her knees right there on the carpet. "Helen... I’m sorry... I couldn't stop myself from loving him... I’m so sorry... Please forgive me..." My mother and father instantly rushed to scoop her up, holding her tightly, whispering soothing words as if she were a fragile child being tortured. I stood there, watching this grotesque circus. Watching the people I had spent my entire life loving and trusting, standing shoulder to shoulder against me. A cold, bitter laugh ripped from my throat. "What do I want?" I said, the sound raspy and hollow. "You’re already one big, happy family. What could I possibly want? I just want a divorce from a lying coward." Without waiting for another word, I whirled around and walked away, my boots clicking sharply against the marble floor. ... The autumn night air was freezing, biting into the swollen heat on my cheek. I drove back to the penthouse apartment Gavin and I had shared for five years and pulled my suitcases out of the closet. I packed quietly, stripping my existence from the rooms, until the sun dipped completely below the horizon. The front door unlocked with a quiet chime, and Gavin stepped into the foyer. He froze at the sight of three large suitcases lined up by the door. His expression shattered, and in two quick strides, he closed the distance between us, grabbing me from behind and wrapping his arms around my waist with suffocating force. "Are you really doing this?" he demanded, his voice strained with suppressed panic. "We dated for seven years, Helen. We’ve been married for five. Twelve years of our lives—are you really just throwing it all away?" I thrashed against him, digging my fingernails into his forearms, trying desperately to break his hold. He gripped me tighter, leaning down to speak directly into my ear. "Betty already told me—she doesn't care about a title. She never wanted to ruin our marriage! Why can't we just keep things the way they are?" "She’s my corporate legal advisor," he continued, his tone turning dismissive. "She can't handle high-society dinners, she hates networking, she can't drink. Those public, exhausting events aren't built for her. But you—you’re Mrs. Lawson. Everyone knows you. You get to attend the galas, you enjoy my status, my wealth, my name... What else could you possibly be dissatisfied with?!" His words were like a blade dipped in poison, plunging straight into my heart and twisting hard. With a surge of violent adrenaline, I shoved him off me with everything I had. As he stumbled back, I brought my right hand around and slapped him across the face with a force that echoed through the high ceilings. "Gavin," I whispered, tears spilling over my lashes, "you disgust me." A tidal wave of buried, agonizing memories slammed into me all at once. Before we got married, I was the youngest chief orthopedic surgical resident at Metro General Hospital. My career was brilliant, my future limitless. When he launched his startup, his early days were brutal. He needed investors, needed someone to entertain clients, needed someone to drink with high-powered executives to secure contracts. I couldn't process alcohol well, but to help him survive, I abandoned my medical shifts, put on evening gowns, and forced down glass after glass of hard liquor until I ended up vomiting blood in the ER, leaving me with chronic, agonizing stomach ulcers that forced me to resign from surgery. I sacrificed my passion, my career, my future—all so he could build an empire and sleep with my best friend behind my back for over a decade. How bloody hilarious. I didn't bother looking at his bruised, furious face again. I grabbed the handles of my luggage and headed for the private elevator entrance. As I reached the top of the foyer stairs, a shadow darted out from the dark hallway. Betty dropped directly onto her knees, blocking my path. She reached up, grabbing my hand, and violently slammed it into her own cheek. "Helen, I was wrong!" she wailed, tears streaming down her pale face. "I’m trash! Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just please don't leave Gavin! Don't throw your life away because of me!" I was so deeply nauseated by her theatrical performance that I violently yanked my hand back. "Get away from me!" My pull was light, barely enough to break her grip. But Betty threw her body backward, rolling directly down the flight of carpeted stairs. A sharp, blood-curdling scream pierced the air. At the bottom of the stairs, she curled into a ball, and a thick pool of crimson blood began blooming rapidly through the fabric of her cream-colored trousers. I froze at the top of the landing, my brain going completely blank. The next second, a furious roar echoed behind me. Gavin shoved me aside so hard I slammed shoulder-first against the doorframe, falling to the floor. He sprinted down the stairs, scooping Betty's limp, bleeding body into his arms. "Betty! Stay with me! Don't be scared, I’m taking you to the hospital right now!" ... I stared at the dark stain of blood on the carpet for a long, hollow time before picking myself up and driving blindly to the hospital. Outside the emergency room doors, my parents and Connor were already pacing back and forth, their faces twisted with anxious agony. When they saw me walk out of the elevator, their expressions hardened into pure, icy malice. The double doors of the recovery room clicked open. Betty was propped up on a hospital bed, her face ghost-white, her voice a breathless, agonizing whisper. "Gavin... our baby... our baby is gone... We can still have another one someday... right?" Gavin sat beside her bed, cradling her small hand in both of his, kissing her knuckles with a soft, desperate tenderness he had never once offered me. When he turned to face me, his eyes were bloodshot and wild with murderous rage. "Helen Lawson. Are you happy now?" His voice trembled with raw, suffocating hatred. "She gave up her dignity to kneel and beg for your forgiveness! If you couldn't forgive her, fine—but you had to murder my child?! You killed my firstborn child! Is that blood enough to satisfy your sick, jealous revenge?!" My mother rushed forward, shoving me violently against the hallway wall, pointing an accusation in my face. "You monster! How could your heart be so black?! That was a living, breathing innocent baby! How could you throw her down the stairs?!" Connor glared at me, his eyes cold enough to freeze blood. "I regret protecting you for twenty years. I can't believe our family birthed a selfish, sadistic psychopath like you." I swallowed the metallic taste of guilt and shock, trying to speak through a throat choked with dust. "I didn't know she was pregnant... I didn't push her..." Nobody listened. To them, my truth was just a pathetic, lying excuse. Suddenly, a hysterical shriek shattered the air from inside the room. Everyone rushed back to Betty's bedside. I lifted my head, watching through the glass partition. Betty was staring at her phone screen in sheer horror. The internet had exploded. High-resolution photographs of her and Gavin locking lips, holding hands, and entering luxury hotels had been leaked across every major social media platform. The comment sections were a bloodbath, thousands of users branding her a pathetic, home-wrecking mistress. Betty thrashing on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. "Gavin! Everyone is attacking me! My reputation as a lawyer is destroyed! My career is over! I have nothing left to live for—I’d rather just die!" Gavin stared at the trending news alerts on his phone, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle twitched violently. He whirled toward me, his glare sharp enough to kill. "You posted these, didn't you, Helen?!" he growled. "You won't stop until you’ve pushed her to commit suicide, will you?!" A terrible, sudden quiet settled inside my chest. I looked at the weeping woman on the bed, and then at the frantic man holding her. "It was you," I whispered, my voice chillingly clear. "Wasn't it?" "The woman who called me from ten years in the future... it was you, Betty. You deliberately sent me those photos. You orchestrated this whole scene to force my hand, to make me file for divorce, so you could step into my place." Betty’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second. Then, she instantly buried her face in her hands, whimpering louder, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "What are you talking about...? I didn't... Helen, I swear I didn't... I’m not a bad person..." Connor lost control. He stepped forward and slammed his heavy boot directly into the side of my right knee. "CRACK." A sickening snap echoed through the quiet corridor. A blinding spike of agony shattered through my leg. My knee buckled instantly, and I collapsed onto the hard hospital floor, my right leg bent at a grotesque angle. The excruciating pain brought cold sweat bursting out across my forehead. Humiliation. Betrayal. Physical agony. They pooled together, drowning me completely. Gavin pulled out his phone and dialed his head corporate attorney. "You want a divorce, Helen? Fine. I’ll give you your goddamn divorce. Draft the settlement papers immediately. We’re releasing a public statement right now!" His words dropped like heavy, iron weights onto my chest. "We’re holding a press conference within the hour. We will clarify that you and I have been emotionally separated for years. That you became obsessively unhinged, stalked us, harassed Betty, and violently caused her miscarriage!" "It’s time the world saw you for the monster you really are." "Boom." My world, built over thirty years, crumbled into dust. Twenty years of sisterhood. Five years of marriage. A lifetime of family love. All of it was a lie. I lay on the freezing floor, tears dripping silently onto the linoleum, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight in my chest. Ten minutes later, the legal counsel arrived with the documents. Dragging my fractured leg, I pulled myself up into a chair. With trembling fingers, I took the pen and signed my name on the final page of the divorce agreement. The handwriting was neat, steady, and stripped of every ounce of energy I had left in my body. Gavin picked up his pen, hovering it over the signature line. Just as the tip of his pen touched the paper, his phone suddenly burst into a loud, frantic ring tone. He answered it on speaker. A man’s voice filtered through the phone—a voice that sounded identical to Gavin’s, but weathered, raspy, and utterly broken. It echoed through the dead silence of the hospital room. "Gavin, do not sign those papers. I am you, ten years in the future." "If you divorce Helen today, you will spend the rest of your life dying in regret."