My Guardian Angel Is The Girl My Cheating Wife Used To Be

The ninety-ninth time I bought the paparazzi video of my wife cheating on me in a car, I dug out the promise note she’d written in high school. Briar Rhodes had gotten caught holding my hand in the hallway—a scandal that had her called before the headmaster. In that note, she’d meticulously penned the words that would become my gospel: “I know they say high school love is wrong, but I believe our love can conquer everything.” “Before I turn thirty, I will give Fitch Elliott a home—with babies and a cat.” I’m twenty-nine now. No babies. No cat. But she’d given another man—her secretary, Logan Miller—and a pair of boy-girl twins, the complete family she’d promised me. I pressed a heavy, frantic line onto the yellowed paper, then drove the scissor blade into my neck: “You were wrong. You didn’t make him happy. You only drove him to die.” … The blood streamed freely from my throat, and the cold was seeping into my limbs. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. I only felt relief. Just as my consciousness began to drift, the bathroom door slammed open. Briar charged in, her pupils dilating into pinpricks when she saw the crimson wash in the tub. She staggered, practically tackling the porcelain to grab a thick towel, which she pressed savagely against my wound. “Fitch Elliott, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?” I looked at her panicked, ravaged face, and a cynical smile touched my lips. Was she afraid I was dead, or just afraid my messy, ignominious death would finally wreck her reputation? “Don’t touch me, Briar. Let go.” She tried to pull me out, but my struggles sent a spray of icy water over her. Her expensive custom dress clung to her body, leaving her looking utterly exposed and defeated. “You’re throwing a fit over that? Seriously, Fitch? When did you get so damn dramatic?” she asked, her voice tight with fury and exhaustion. I closed my eyes, too tired to argue. Years ago, when I was hysterical and demanded she get rid of the first baby, I’d threatened her with a razor. She lied to me then, claiming she’d gone abroad to a private clinic where the procedure wouldn’t hurt her or our chances for the future. It wasn’t until she reappeared, cradling a pair of infants, that I became so enraged I nearly threw myself off the balcony. After a cycle of self-harm and desperate pleas, Briar’s initial agony and guilt had curdled into a cold, dull indifference. “Fitch, you just can’t bring yourself to follow through,” she sneered. “You’re using this as a pathetic lever, a way to force my hand. Otherwise, how do you keep surviving every single time?” The car sped toward the hospital. The doctors worked quickly. Once I was settled in a private room, Briar finally lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around her agitated face. “Logan wasn’t old when he came to me. He’s worked hard for the company and with the kids for three years now,” she explained, her voice flat. “That night, I was drunk. Yes, I was wrong, but the children are innocent!” She stood over me, her expression a mix of incomprehension and weariness. “The title of ‘husband’ is permanently yours. Why can’t you just be the bigger person?” “Is it so hard to accept two children? They are mine!” I stared up at the woman I had once loved to the bone. She was demanding I be “the bigger person” and embrace the children she’d birthed with another man. The place where my heart used to be no longer ached. It was just an empty, cold, suffocating void. “Briar,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Let’s get the divorce papers tomorrow.” Her brow furrowed. “How long are you going to keep this act up? It was just a stupid paparazzi video!” She then added, with chilling casualness, “You won’t touch me, and I have needs. You expect me not to find relief elsewhere?” I managed a self-mocking twist of my mouth. “You once promised that if you ever messed up, you’d let me go.” Her breath hitched. She looked at me with a complicated expression. “Fitchy, childish promises don’t count in the real world.” I closed my eyes, utterly exhausted. “Let the past stay in the past, then. Your home has already been given to someone else. I don’t want it anymore.” The room fell silent for a long time. She reached out and brushed my hair back from my forehead. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I instinctively flinched, pulling my head away. She slammed the door in frustration. “You rest. The doctor says you’re unstable and need quiet. We’ll talk about the divorce later. Don’t do anything stupid again.” In her eyes, my hysteria and utter breakdown were nothing more than childish stupidity. My pain was simply an inconvenience, disrupting her calm, privileged life. Just then, my eye caught the old high school note in my hand. New ink was floating up on the blank space! “Who are you? Why are you writing on my promise note?!” My heart skipped a beat. I stared, transfixed, at the words appearing from nowhere. I picked up the pen the nurse had left, my hand trembling uncontrollably. “Briar Rhodes, I am your guardian angel, here to protect you. Don’t be with Fitch Elliott.” I held my breath, waiting for a response. A few seconds later, the familiar, youthful handwriting, full of teenage pique and impatience, reappeared: “That’s BS! Why would I listen to you? I love Fitchy, and I’m going to be with him! What kind of sick prank is this?!” It was her. The eighteen-year-old Briar Rhodes. The girl who still believed that love could conquer everything, the girl who had vowed to build me a home. The girl she was then and the calm, controlled woman she was now were two completely different people. When I was a teenager, my mother had an affair, and my father murdered her and her lover before being sent to prison. Everyone had scorned me as the trash of a killer and a tramp. Only eighteen-year-old Briar held me, repeating endlessly how good I was. When I once wished out loud to see snow, she secretly saved up bus fare and took me a thousand miles north. She stood proudly in front of the entire student body during her public reprimand and declared, “I haven’t done anything wrong. I love Fitch Elliott, and I will marry him someday.” We squeezed into a tiny, rundown apartment, blowing out candles over cheap, leftover slices of cake from her after-school job. Even when she became the ruthless, shrewd businesswoman she is now, her eyes were still full of me. To give me a sense of security, she even let me choose her personal assistants and secretaries. Logan Miller’s resume was mediocre, and his English still carried a heavy, rustic accent. But he reminded me of my young self—the same hunger, the same fight to prove himself. I treated Logan like a younger brother, bought him nice clothes, taught him social etiquette. I even invited him to our holiday dinners. He would grin, throw his arm around my shoulder, and joke: “Fitchy, my man, I’ll make sure to watch out for the boss and keep all those sleazy guys away from her!” Yet, he was the one who betrayed me the deepest. The door to my room opened, and Logan walked in, looking slick and expensive. No trace of the boy who grew up in the mountains. “Briar’s tied up with company stuff, so she sent me to check on you.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, man, don’t hurt yourself. I know you’re angry. But her husband will always be you. We’re not trying to take your place.” I closed my eyes, refusing to watch his performance. “Don’t make me say it again. Get out.” Logan hadn’t expected the direct rejection, and his face soured. “Look, man, your sperm count is low. You couldn’t hold up your end of the deal. Briar got tired of it a long time ago.” He stood up, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’re a broken thing. Briar already got tired of you.” He left with a satisfied look. Who needs the empty title of “husband”? I wanted the girl whose eyes were only for me, the partner who promised me a home. Since Briar had personally shattered all of that, I didn’t want this relationship—drenched in betrayal and lies—anymore. With a cold, final resolve, I picked up the pen and wrote: “If you don’t listen, you will cause Fitch Elliott to attempt suicide countless times. You will destroy his will to live.” “If you truly love him, stay away. It is the only thing you can do to save him.” I leaned back, utterly drained, waiting for her reply. Time ticked by. Just as I thought the communication had stopped, new words slowly emerged on the paper. The youthful handwriting was no longer frantic, but hesitant. “You’re lying. Fitchy is so good. How could I ever hurt him? I’ll be good to him forever!” “Why should I believe you? You don’t have any proof.” My life was the bloody proof. But how could I tell the teenager from eleven years ago? Should I tell her she would get drunk after a business dinner and end up in bed with the adoring male secretary? That she would get pregnant and successfully give birth to a pair of twins? And that the boy she once held so dear would descend into depression from years of betrayal, repeatedly attempting to violently end his own life to escape the world? The truth was too cruel for the eighteen-year-old version of her. I thought for a moment, then added a line: “Just above your tailbone, near your hip, you have a small, star-shaped birthmark. Only the orphanage director and I know about it.” Briar had told me that. “Are you really my guardian angel?” I smiled faintly. The teenage girl was so easy to manipulate. “If you truly want to save Fitch Elliott, pull away from him. Treat him coldly. Let him live a life without you.” A long pause followed. Then, the words that appeared carried a tone of reluctant, pained compromise: “I’ll listen to you for now. But if I find out you’re lying, I swear I won’t let you get away with it.” The threat was fierce, yet childish. But I felt a deep sense of relief, a smile touching my lips for the first time in what felt like forever. Eighteen-year-old Briar. Please be ruthless. Be crueler. Push the boy who loves you with all his heart away—as far away as you possibly can. On the day I was discharged, Briar came to pick me up. She glanced at the dressing on my neck, her eyes darkening. “The passenger seat is a mess. You should sit in the back.” I looked at the seat, which she hadn’t bothered to clean, scattered with a few wadded-up, cheap tissues and a discarded, torn nylon stocking. My heart clenched into a cold fist. But this time, I had no sharp questions. I got in the back seat in silence. Briar stiffened, clearly surprised by my unusual calmness. The driver, understanding the tension, raised the privacy divider. She tried to make conversation, her tone laced with confusion. “Fitch, how did we end up like this?” I felt numb. “Before, your eyes were only for me. Now, I’m just the least remarkable thing in your life.” She bristled, her voice rising in automatic protest. “That’s not true! You know you’re still the most important!” I gave her a look of faint mockery. “Briar, I can’t live up to that claim.” Briar’s face hardened. “Fitch, do you have to be so relentless?” “I am trying to make amends! I haven’t even officially made them co-heirs, for God’s sake! What more do you want?” She always had a reason. Did my suffering mean nothing? I suddenly felt utterly weary, lacking the strength to even argue. “Let’s go to the courthouse tomorrow.” Briar grabbed my shoulder fiercely, forcing me to face her. “I said no. Divorce is not happening. You are my husband for life!” I looked at her beautiful face, twisted now by agitation, and felt an intense sense of unfamiliarity. “Briar, the thing that trapped me before was my love for you.” “I don’t love you anymore. You can’t keep me here.” Her pupils constricted. She slumped back into her seat, then let out a cold, strained laugh. “Your manipulation tactics have certainly improved. I underestimated you.” As soon as we walked into the house, I heard the sound of children laughing, followed by Logan’s gentle cooing. “Not so fast, you two. Mommy will be back in a minute.” Toys were scattered across the living room rug. The boy and girl were wrestling on the floor, and Logan, wearing a casual t-shirt and sweats, watched them with a fond smile. The scene was sickeningly cozy. Hearing the commotion, Logan naturally took Briar’s discarded jacket and smiled at me. “Fitchy, let me know if you need anything at all, okay?” He looked every bit the man of the house. The boy, seeing me, kicked my shin. “Jerk! Don’t you dare break up our family!” The girl pouted. “Mommy, why did you let the bad man back in our house?” Briar didn’t reprimand their insolence. Her face was full of doting affection. “Mommy loves you two the most, always.” I stood there, an outsider looking in at a happy, complete family of four. I dug my nails into my palm, using the pain to anchor myself. “I’ll take the guest room.” Briar followed me, her voice exasperated. “Are you really going to hold a grudge against the children? I was just trying to soothe them.” I suddenly smiled. “What do your children have to do with me? Why should I care about their feelings?” She choked on her words, her face turning ashen. “Fitch Elliott, I don’t even recognize you anymore!” I nodded, my tone light and hollow. “You have yourself to thank for that.” I placed the promise note gently on the nightstand. Just then, new writing began to form on the paper. “Future Me, you are a pathetic bastard!” “I see what you’re doing now. How dare you let another woman and those wild brats into my house?!” “How the hell could you let Fitchy suffer like this? I’m going to kill you!” The handwriting was frenzied and desperate. My heart hammered against my ribs. Briar, standing in the doorway, must have sensed the shift in the air. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the paper in my hand, her voice icy. “Fitch, what the hell is that you’re holding?” She snatched the note from my grasp. “Stop your mystical nonsense, Fitch. You’re clearly having a breakdown!” I watched her, instantly alert, and hissed, “Don’t touch it!” The sheer disgust in my eyes seemed to ignite her rage. Her gaze turned vicious. “This is my house, and you are my husband! What am I not allowed to touch?” “Fitch, have I been too lenient lately? Is this a love letter from your latest mistress?” So, forcing me to accept her betrayal, her bastard children, and ignoring my agony—that was lenience? A profound, chilling despair gripped me. I shoved her hard, locked the door, and sank against the frame. All I could do now was pray that the Briar from eleven years ago would listen and change my fate. But the next few days passed, and everything stayed the same. My hope plummeted to rock bottom. Perhaps to punish me for my defiance, Briar organized a lavish ceremony to officially introduce the twins to society. Invitations went out to almost every major figure in the business community. Logan, wearing a bespoke suit, walked through the room, holding the hands of the twins, accepting the compliments and blessings of the guests. His gaze caught mine, and his eyes were full of triumphant spite. He seemed to be saying: This is only the beginning. Next time, you’ll be attending our wedding. Midway through the banquet, the massive screen lit up to show a documentary of the children’s early life. Briar was there, picnicking with Logan and the kids, taking them to water parks—a painfully idyllic life. Suddenly, the children’s smiling faces vanished. They were replaced by a vile, grainy video. The footage of my mother’s affair with her lover, the same one that had been leaked online years ago, flashed across the screen! The resemblance between my mother and me was impossible to miss. Hundreds of guests’ looks of contempt immediately skewered me. Briar screamed at them to shut it down. But the control panel was unresponsive. My mother’s desperate moans echoed through the banquet hall. My body turned to ice. My blood seemed to solidify in my veins. Logan stood there, a cruel smirk on his face, silently mouthing the words: “How do you like my gift, Cal?” I lunged forward, hitting him with every ounce of strength I had left. Logan stumbled backward, conveniently crashing into the little boy, who’d run over to watch the spectacle. The child fell hard, bursting into tears. Briar’s furious roar tore through the room: “Logan! Jayson!” Before I could react, I was kicked away like a discarded rag doll. A blinding pain exploded at the back of my skull. Warm liquid instantly gushed out. I curled up on the cold floor. The back of my head was wet, and when I hesitantly reached a trembling hand to touch it, it came back covered in bright, thick red. As my consciousness faded, a figure in a school uniform frantically ran toward me. “Fitchy, don’t be afraid. I’m here…” Her face was younger, her brows still held a childish innocence, but I knew those features. I would never be mistaken. It was eighteen-year-old Briar. Had she really come?