Chapter 3

Haven pushed herself off the rug. She carried the diary to the small dining table and laid it flat against the cheap wood. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

She gripped the blue pen. The tip hovered a millimeter above the yellowed paper. Her brain calculated the risks with cold precision.

If she told a seventeen-year-old Clayton that she was his future wife, he would shut down. He was paranoid and arrogant. He would think she was a stalker and burn the book.

Haven narrowed her eyes. Clayton had a massive, ingrained sense of family duty. She pressed the pen down and wrote: Don't be scared. I am your future daughter.

The blue ink vanished. The page remained blank for a full sixty seconds. The silence from the past was heavy with shock.

Then, the black ink slashed across the page, the strokes furious: Bullshit! I don't even have a girlfriend! Who the hell is this?

Haven bit the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. She wrote back calmly: Time travel is hard to explain. But I need your help, Dad.

The black ink paused at the word "Dad." A moment later, two words appeared: Prove it.

Haven opened her laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She searched the archives of the Maplewood High School local news for November 12, 2014.

She skimmed a boring sports recap and found the perfect, unpredictable detail.

Haven wrote in the diary: At the varsity football tryouts today at 3:00 PM, the quarterback will sprain his left ankle in the third minute of the scrimmage.

She added one final line: The final score is 14 to 7. Go to the field and watch.

The black ink replied instantly: If this is a joke, I'm tracking your IP address.

Haven closed the diary. She carefully slid it into her leather tote bag. She glanced at the clock on the microwave.

She had to leave right now. She had a final severance negotiation with her former HR department in the downtown Maplewood business district.

Haven walked out of the subway station. The biting wind whipped her hair across her face. She took a deep breath, pushing through the heavy revolving doors of the corporate glass tower.

The receptionist glared at her. Haven swiped her temporary visitor badge and rode the elevator up to the HR floor.

Inside the sterile, glass-walled conference room, her former boss, Warren Adler, sat next to the HR Director. A thin, insulting severance agreement rested on the table.

Haven pulled out a chair and sat. Warren adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. A fake, sickening smile plastered his face.

"Haven," Warren said smoothly. "Due to your violation of our non-disclosure policies, the company is denying your severance. If you make a fuss, I will personally ensure you never work in media again."

Haven's hands were hidden under the table. Her fingernails dug into her palms, breaking the skin. But her face remained a mask of absolute, stone-cold indifference.

She stared dead into Warren's eyes. "Your illegal retaliation is my leverage, Warren. And I've been recording this entire conversation."

Warren's smile twitched. He quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair. "You have zero proof. You're bluffing."

The HR Director aggressively slid a pen across the table. "Sign the termination papers, Haven. Or we withhold your final paycheck."

Haven didn't look at the pen. She moved slowly. She pulled her phone out of her bag and tapped the screen.

Right in front of them, she ended the active voice recording app. She hit the button to upload the file to her secure cloud drive.

Warren shot up from his chair. His face turned purple. "You bitch! You can't record us!"

Haven let out a dry, humorless laugh. "This state is a one-party consent state, Warren. This is perfectly legal."

She grabbed her bag and stood up. She looked down at Warren's panicked face. "This fight hasn't even started."

Haven turned on her heel and marched out of the conference room. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor of the hallway.

The second she stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, a sudden, intense heat radiated from her tote bag.

Haven stopped walking. The diary was burning. The past had just verified her prediction.