My Fiancé’s Confession From the Future Chapter 07

My Fiancé’s Confession From the Future Chapter 07

“Ms. Walsh, these are the original copyright documents for all your designs, returned on behalf of Mr.

Winters. Please sign for them.”

The day the lawyer delivered the files to my studio door, I looked at them for a long time.

Every design had the original timestamp and my signature.

He had used legal channels to return everything Jessica had stolen.

I signed for them.

A week later, my father received an anonymous call. A top cardiac surgery team was willing to fly in to

re-examine him and evaluate a surgical plan.

Completely free of charge.

I knew who had arranged it.

The day of the surgery, I waited upstairs for five hours.

After it was successful, my mother called to say there was a familiar car parked downstairs. It had been

there from morning until night.

I just said, “I know.”

At the same time, Ethan publicly acknowledged his role in the studio infringement case to the industry.

In his statement, he didn’t try to clear his name, and he didn’t use the lies from the future to take all the

blame.

What he wrote was the truth: “My investment was exploited by a third party as a tool for infringement.

Although I was not the mastermind, I bear undeniable responsibility for failing to oversee it properly.”

After the statement went out, his business reputation took a serious hit.

One evening, he went to see my father.

My father’s attitude was firm.

“Ethan, I don’t know what happened between you and Serena. She won’t say, so I won’t ask.”

“But she’s my daughter. Whatever decision she makes, I stand with her.”

After a pause, my father sighed.

“Twenty years ago, you were only six. Your mother and I treated you like a son. Even now, I can’t see you as a complete stranger. But when it comes to Serena, I only listen to her.”

Ethan wanted to say something but swallowed it.

Just as my father was about to leave, Ethan stopped him.

“Sir, there’s something going to send over soon.”

“It contains some truths that are different from what Serena knows. I’m not doing it so she’ll forgive me. She has the right to know.”

My father said nothing.

He patted Ethan on the shoulder and left.

Not long after, I received a letter.

In it, he went through everything the future version of himself had said, point by point, and corrected each

one with evidence.

The original engraving on the ring was S&E. Jessica had taken his membership card to the store and

changed it herself. He had never intended to give the ring to anyone else.

The studio investment was his, but Jessica had been stealing the design files first. She used his trust as a

cover.

On the day of my father’s surgery, the specialist team was canceled by Jessica using his name. He hadn’t

known.

At the end, he wrote: The future version of me piled every sin onto himself because he wanted you to hate me completely and leave without looking back.

I don’t know why I would do that.

Not long after, he received a reply.

It was from me.

Just two lines.

“I didn’t need you to tell me any of that. I found out on my own.”

“If I had to choose again, I would still leave you.”

He looked at that letter for a long time.

I really had found out on my own.

Every message from the future Ethan, I had cross-checked against real evidence.

My lawyer helped me pull the jeweler’s modification records, the registration timeline for Jessica’s shell Chapter 7

companies, and the canceled specialist team order from the hospital.

Every piece pointed to the same conclusion. The future version of him had been lying.

He had made himself sound worse than he actually was.

He had taken all of Jessica’s crimes onto himself.

For one reason only: to make me hate him completely. To make me leave for good.

Another month passed.

One morning, I opened the studio door to find a bouquet of white daisies.

No card. No name.

I brought the flowers inside and set them on the windowsill.

I opened for business like nothing had happened.

I knew who sent them.

But all contact with him went through my lawyer.

The supplementary signatures for the copyright return. The reimbursement paperwork for my father’s surgery routed through a trust fund.

Cold. Professional.

Life in the small town moved slowly. Slow enough for me to piece together the broken parts, one fragment at

a time.

He retreated to an even greater distance.

He stopped appearing across the street. He stopped sending flowers.

Occasionally, through the lawyer, he handled paperwork. Occasionally, in the notes section of trust documents, he wrote an extra line.

Once he wrote: “The drain cover at the corner by the studio is loose. It floods when it rains. Be careful when you go out.”

Winter passed.

Spring arrived.

A small flower pot appeared on the studio windowsill.

He had left it.

Inside was a tiny seedling, just sprouted, its leaves so tender they were almost translucent.

Then it was the Fourth of July again.