My mother, Claire Bennett, was hopelessly in love. She had congenital heart disease. Surgery could have improved her condition if she'd had it early enough. Instead, she kept putting it off for my father until her condition became terminal. Every time, my father would take her hand, his eyes brimming with tears. "Honey, open-heart surgery would take so much out of you. I've consulted an alternative medicine practitioner. We'll try nonsurgical treatment. Even if I have to sell everything we own, I'll be right here with you." My mother was moved to tears. Even later, when she spent entire nights in too much pain to lie flat, she believed she'd married the best man in the world. The truth was that he'd taken the 600,000 dollars meant for her surgery and bought his first love a home for their future together. In the end, all it took was one more excuse. "I don't want you covered in tubes, turned into some undignified monster." My mother died that bitter winter, and he collected a death benefit of 1,200,000 dollars. Before a week had passed since her death, my father brought that woman and the son from his affair home. I never called him Dad again. After I enrolled in a combined medical degree program, finding a targeted treatment strategy became an obsession. I worked without rest or sleep until the strain brought on cardiac arrest. I died beside a cold dissection table. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my parents got engaged. I watched my father gaze lovingly at my mother as he prepared to slip one of their matching engagement rings onto her finger. I snatched up the hot coffee on the table and flung it in his face.

On Harvest Moon Festival night, I was packing my bags to leave Ethan Ward for good when my phone unexpectedly connected me to a cross-time video call with my younger self from 5 years earlier.   The girl on the screen had eyes that shone as brightly as the moon. Clutching a love letter to her chest, she asked excitedly, "It's been 5 years. Ethan and I must be married by now, right?"   I went cold at the hope in her eyes.   Just 5 days earlier, Ethan had left me alone at the subway station on our way to meet my parents because his "best friend" had been diagnosed with a lump. With red-rimmed eyes, he had sworn he would stay with her for 5 days and then cut her off for good.   He spent those 5 days watching the sunrise with her, playing squash, and even going to the concert I had begged him for 6 months to attend with me.   Without a word, I sent my younger self photo after photo of the two of them wrapped in each other's arms during those days.   As the girl on the screen broke down sobbing, I said hoarsely, "Tear up the letter. Whatever you do, don't fall in love with him."