The Bullet I Took For You

For five blissful years, I poured my heart and soul into saving Ethan Lester, the tragic hero from a TV show, now the man I loved.

Our wedding was just seven days away, my mission 99% complete, a lifetime of happiness within reach.

Then, his voice, thick with emotion, echoed from the guesthouse.

"Annie, I never stopped loving you."

He declared I was just "static," background noise to his enduring love for Annabel, his wealthy ex-fiancée.

The woman whose family destroyed him.

The woman for whom he promised to still take a bullet.

That promise felt like a bullet through my own heart, erasing my entire existence, my sacrifice of literally taking a bullet for him.

How could he betray me so completely, after all we had built, after the life I gave him back?

I yanked out my phone, contact the program, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands: "I want to pull the plug. I' m going home."

I' ve spent five years of my life trying to save one man.

His name is Ethan Lester.

In my world, he was the tragic antagonist of a TV show called "Bay City Blues," a brilliant detective framed by corrupt city officials and gunned down in an alley. In this world, he' s the man I love.

A mysterious program gave me a chance to change his fate. It sent my consciousness into the body of Gabby, a waitress with no family and no future. The mission was simple: save Ethan Lester from his scripted death.

My mission completion rate is at 99%.

Last night, after five years of rebuilding his life from the ashes, Ethan proposed. We' re getting married in seven days. According to the program, once we say our vows, the mission will hit 100%. I can stay here, with him, forever.

But tonight, everything fell apart.

I' m standing in the cold, drizzling rain, staring at the guesthouse window on Ethan' s property. Inside, bathed in warm light, is Annabel Chadwick, his beautiful, wealthy ex-fiancée. The woman whose family destroyed him.

His voice, the one that promised me forever just last night, drifts through the glass, clear and devastating.

"Annie, I never stopped loving you."

"Compared to you, everyone else is just static."

My breath catches in my throat. Static. That' s what I am. Five years of devotion, of working multiple jobs to support him, of nursing him through his darkest depressions-all of it just background noise.

Then he delivers the final blow.

"You're the only one that matters. I'd still take a bullet for you, you know that."

A cold numbness spreads through me, starting from the scar on my back. The scar I got from literally taking a bullet for him. His words don't just hurt; they erase my entire existence here.

My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone, but my voice is steady when I contact the program.

"I want to pull the plug. I' m going home."

The program' s synthesized voice responds, devoid of emotion.

"Mission completion is at 99%. Initiating extraction will reset all progress. Are you sure?"

I look back at the window, at the silhouette of the man I gave up my life for, who is now promising that life to someone else.

"I'm sure."

The final 1%, his true, undivided love, was never mine to have.

The next morning, Ethan is a whirlwind of happiness.

He finds me in the kitchen, staring into a cup of coffee I haven' t touched. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind, kissing my neck.

"Morning, future Mrs. Lester."

His voice is bright, full of plans. He talks about the vineyard, the flowers, the life we're going to build. He even mentions kids, a boy with my eyes and a girl with his smile.

I just nod, a hollow feeling echoing in my chest.

He pulls back, finally sensing my quietness. "Hey, you okay? Pre-wedding jitters?"

"Just tired," I manage to say. "A lot to plan."

He smiles, accepting the lie easily. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've got it all covered. Today, I have a surprise for you."

He' s so blissfully unaware it' s almost cruel. He has no idea that every cheerful word, every promise for the future, is a nail in the coffin of my five-year dream.

He spends the day making calls, finalizing details for a wedding that will never happen. I watch him, a ghost in my own home, packing a small box in my closet.

Inside, I place the cheap locket he bought me after his first successful case, the pressed wildflower from our first picnic, and the worn-out copy of his favorite book he gave me on our first anniversary. Every little treasure, every piece of our shared history, now feels like evidence of a crime.

Later that afternoon, he comes back, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Close your eyes," he says, his voice giddy.

I do as he says. I hear him move something large and rustling into the room.

"Okay, open them."

Hanging on the back of our bedroom door is the most beautiful wedding dress I' ve ever seen. It' s the designer gown from the boutique downtown, the one I' d admired but knew we could never afford. It' s all delicate lace and flowing silk, a perfect dream.

"Ethan... how?" I whisper, my throat tight.

He grins, a little sheepishly. "I sold the Mustang."

My heart stops. His vintage Mustang. It was his one connection to his old life, the only thing he managed to keep. He loved that car. He sold it for me. For a dress I will wear to my own funeral.

"I told you," he says, his voice soft as he pulls me into a hug. "Nothing is more important than you. I've waited five years for our wedding day, Gabby. I can't wait to see you walk down the aisle in this."

The irony is a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. He sold his past for a future I am about to steal from him.