The Wedding Night Annulment

My wife, Ellie, died in my arms, her last words twisting the knife: a confession she wished she'd never married me, only pined for her stepbrother, Marcus.

Haunted by her dying wish, I used my family's illicit time-travel technology to rewrite our past, determined to give her the happiness I never could.

I plunged into our wedding night, posing as Marcus to get our marriage annulled.

I painstakingly orchestrated her reunion with him, enduring humiliation, and even donated my own blood to save him after his suicide attempt.

Every sacrifice tore me apart, ensuring her ultimate freedom, though it came at the cost of my own soul.

Yet, after all this, Ellie, finally free of me, only realized her feelings for me once I was gone.

Then, at a charity gala, Marcus, in a jealous rage, attacked me.

Ellie shielded me, taking the fall, leaving her gravely injured.

Now, she's desperate for the love she never saw.

Can I, after such profound heartbreak and self-sacrifice, ever reciprocate?

Or is it time to finally choose my own peace, severing all ties, and finding a happiness she will only witness from afar?

The memory of Ellie's death never left me.

It played in my mind, a constant, grim movie.

The charity gala.

The lights.

Then the crash, a lighting rig tearing from the ceiling.

I saw it fall.

Ellie saw it too.

She shoved me.

Hard.

I stumbled clear.

The rig crushed the spot where I'd stood.

And it crushed her.

I rushed to her, the noise of the crowd a distant roar.

Her eyes found mine.

Blood stained her lips.

"Ethan," she whispered, voice raspy.

"I'm so sorry."

Her hand, frail, tried to reach for me.

"My fault... all of it."

A tear escaped her eye.

"I wish... I wish I hadn't married you."

Each word was a hammer blow.

"I wish Mom and Dad... hadn't stopped Marcus and me."

Marcus.

Her stepbrother.

The one she'd always loved.

The one who killed himself years ago, right after our wedding.

Because of our wedding.

"Save him, Ethan," she choked out.

"Please... save Marcus."

Then her eyes went dull.

Ellie was gone.

Her last words.

Her dying wish.

To not be married to me.

For her parents to let her be with Marcus.

To save Marcus.

How could I save a man already dead?

How could I undo a marriage that had ended in her death?

My family had resources.

Immense wealth.

And a secret project.

Temporal displacement.

Experimental. Dangerous.

My parents begged me not to.

But Ellie's words haunted me.

Her misery, she believed, was my fault.

I loved her.

Even when she was cold.

Even when she looked through me.

If this was her only path to happiness, even in a past I had to rewrite, I would do it.

I would give her Marcus.

I would set her free.

Even if it meant I never had her at all.

The machine hummed.

A blinding light.

A wrenching pull.

Then, silence.

I opened my eyes.

A lavish hotel suite.

Our wedding night.

Years ago.

Timeline two had begun.

Ellie was on the bed.

Her wedding dress, a heap of white silk on the floor.

She wore a thin slip.

She was drunk.

Very drunk.

"Marcus?" she slurred, eyes half-closed.

She reached out, blindly.

"Marcus, don't go."

My heart, already broken, fractured further.

Even back here, on the night she became my wife, she only wanted him.

She thought I was Marcus.

"They want you to go on that date," she mumbled, words thick.

"That setup. Don't do it, Marcus. Please."

Her parents, Senator Hayes and Lydia, trying to distract Marcus.

Trying to ensure our wedding went off without him making a scene.

In the first timeline, he hadn't made a scene.

He'd just... despaired. And died.

I remembered Timeline One clearly.

Marcus Vance, her stepbrother.

Lydia Hayes's son from a previous marriage.

Not blood, but close enough to be a scandal for the image-conscious Senator.

Ellie's affection for him wasn't just sisterly.

I'd been a fool.

A blind fool.

I'd seen their shared glances, their private laughter.

I'd thought it was just a strong sibling bond.

Her diary, found after her death in Timeline One, told the truth.

Passionate, desperate love for Marcus.

Resentment for me, the obstacle.

Our marriage, a cage.

Her kindness to me over the years?

It was just her nature.

She was kind to everyone, to stray animals, to staff.

It wasn't love.

Not the love she felt for Marcus.

That love was a fire.

What she felt for me was... politeness. Duty.

And eventually, a quiet, simmering resentment that I was the reason she couldn't be with him.

That I was the reason he was dead.

Her three regrets.

Her dying wishes.

1. Not to be married to me.

2. For her parents not to have interfered with her love for Marcus.

3. To "save" Marcus.

I had the annulment papers.

My legal team had them ready before I stepped into the temporal machine.

A long shot, but I had to try.

I knelt by the bed.

Ellie's breathing was shallow.

She smelled of champagne and regret.

I took a small device from my pocket.

Voice modulator.

Programmed with Marcus's voice, sampled from years of voicemails he'd left Ellie, messages I'd found on her old phones.

"Ellie," I said, the sound of Marcus's voice, my voice, filling the quiet room.

It felt like a betrayal of myself, but it was for her.

Her eyes fluttered.

"Marcus?"

"Yes, it's me," I said, as Marcus.

"You need to sign this. It's the only way. The only way I can call off that date."

I held the pen, guided her limp hand to the signature line on the annulment document.

"What is it?" she mumbled.

"Just sign, Ellie. Trust me."

Her hand scrawled something illegible.

Close enough.

Her signature. On a document that would free her.

"I'll do anything for you, Marcus," she whispered, her eyes closing again.

"Anything."

The words, meant for him, tore through me.

This was my mission.

To give her the happiness she never found with me.

I stood up, the signed paper in my hand.

I pulled out my phone.

A secure line to my lawyer, briefed and waiting in this timeline.

"John," I said, my own voice returning. "It's Ethan."

"Mr. Cole. Is everything alright?"

"She signed. The annulment. File it. First thing in the morning."

"Are you sure, sir? This is... highly irregular. On your wedding night."

"I'm sure, John. Do it."

I ended the call.

One wish down. Two to go.

A soft knock on the suite door.

My stomach tightened.

Who could that be?

I quickly hid the annulment papers under a cushion.

The knock came again, louder this time.

"Mr. Cole? Mrs. Cole? Are you in?"

It was the hotel manager.

I opened the door a crack.

"Yes? What is it?"

My voice was rougher than I intended.

The manager, a portly man with a nervous smile, wrung his hands.

"My apologies for the disturbance, Mr. Cole. Senator Hayes is on his way up. He wanted to ensure Mrs. Cole is... comfortable."

Harrison Hayes. Ellie's father.

Checking up on us. Or rather, checking up on his political alliance.

"She's fine," I said. "Just tired. It was a long day."

A lie. She was drunk and heartbroken, but not for me.

The manager nodded, relieved. "Of course, sir. He should be here any moment."

He scurried away.

I closed the door, my mind racing.

Ellie stirred on the bed.

Her eyes opened, clearer now, but still hazy.

She sat up, clutching her head.

"Ugh, my head. What happened?"

She looked around the room, then at me.

No recognition of Marcus. Just me, Ethan. Her new husband.

"You drank a bit too much at the reception," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

"Right." She didn't look at me.

Her indifference was a familiar sting.

"Sorry if I... made a scene," she said, perfunctory.

Not a real apology. Just words.

I knew that tone.

It meant she didn't care what I thought.

"Your father is coming up," I told her.

She sighed, annoyed. "Of course he is."

She stood, a little unsteady, and went to the mirror.

She tried to smooth her hair, her slip clinging to her.

"I need to look presentable for the Senator, don't I?"

The bitterness in her voice was sharp.

A maid knocked and entered, announcing Senator Hayes's arrival downstairs in the lobby.

Ellie quickly threw on a silk robe.

"Let's go greet him," she said, her voice suddenly businesslike.

She walked towards the door of the suite.

She held out her hand towards me, not looking back.

A gesture of unity for her father's benefit.

I took her hand.

It was small, cool in mine.

No warmth. Just duty.

My heart ached with a familiar coldness.

As we stepped into the private elevator, her phone buzzed in her robe pocket.

She pulled it out.

Her expression changed instantly.

From bored heiress to... something else.

Alarm. Urgency.

"I have to go," she said, pulling her hand from mine.

"What? Ellie, your father-"

"He can wait. This is important."

She jabbed the button for the ground floor, her eyes fixed on her phone screen.

The elevator doors opened to the main lobby.

She rushed out without a backward glance.

Leaving me alone. Again.

Just like she always did when Marcus called.

I knew what it was.

I didn't even need to check.

But I did.

I pulled out my own phone, opened a burner social media account.

Marcus Vance's profile.

Public. Always public.

He'd just posted a new picture.

Him, smiling, arm around another girl.

A pretty blonde.

At a trendy downtown bar.

The caption: "Sometimes, you just gotta move on. 😉 #NewBeginnings #Happy"

A deliberate provocation.

Aimed squarely at Ellie.

And it had worked.

She was already gone, chasing after him, abandoning her father, abandoning me.

Humiliating me.

Just like the old timeline.

Some things, it seemed, were harder to change.

My parents were waiting in the hotel's private lounge.

They'd flown in for the wedding, of course.

They looked tired but smiled when they saw me.

Then their smiles faded.

"Ethan? Where's Ellie?" Mom asked, her voice gentle.

Dad's expression was sterner. He never fully trusted the Hayes family.

"She, uh, had to step out," I said.

A massive understatement.

"On your wedding night?" Dad raised an eyebrow.

I couldn't do this anymore.

Not the pretense. Not the charade.

"We need to talk," I said, sitting down heavily.

"I'm divorcing Ellie."

Mom gasped.

Dad just stared at me, his eyes searching mine.

"Ethan, what happened?" Mom asked, her hand reaching for mine.

"It's not working, Mom. It never was."

Tears welled in my eyes.

The pain of Timeline One, the fresh pain of Timeline Two, it all crashed over me.

"I can't... I can't live like this. She doesn't love me. She never will."

I told them about her love for Marcus, her dying words.

Not about the time travel. They wouldn't understand that. Not yet.

But they understood pain. They understood my pain.

"Oh, Ethan," Mom said, her own eyes wet. She pulled me into a hug.

Dad put a hand on my shoulder.

"If this is what you need, son," he said, his voice firm but kind. "We support you."

"One hundred percent," Mom added, pulling back to look at me.

Relief washed over me.

Their support meant everything.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"I want to leave," I said. "After it's finalized. Go abroad. With you guys. Start over."

"Anywhere you want to go, Ethan," Dad said. "We'll make it happen."

I nodded, a small, fragile hope taking root.

Maybe this time.

Maybe this timeline, I could make things right.

For Ellie. For Marcus.

And maybe, eventually, for myself.