And every Sunday, before I left, she'd secretly stuff cash into my pockets.
As I stood there lost in memory, ink bled onto the page again.
*"I've thought about it. I believe you. You really are Dominic from the future."*
*"Forget the nonsense you wrote earlier. I won't hold it against you. We're the same person, after all."*
*"Now, tell me the truth—did Amy and I get married? Is she my wife in the future?"*
My smile vanished. The words blurred as my eyes stung.
*Is she my wife?*
Yes.
And I killed her spirit before her body ever gave out.
I hesitated for a long time, pen hovering over paper. Finally, I wrote:
*"Yes. You married her. She is your wife."*
The reply came instantly, handwriting jagged with excitement.
*"See?! And you told me not to confess! If I didn't confess, how would I land such an amazing wife?"*
*"Listen to me, Old Man. You'd better treat my Amy like a queen. If you hurt her, I won't let you off the hook!"*
*"Oh, right—Amy loves that wonton shop by the gate. Buy her a bowl for me. Even if you've been married for years, you have to keep winning her heart every single day."*
I stood frozen for a long moment.
Eventually, I snapped the diary shut and walked toward the snack street.