Hours Before the Wedding, I Saw Everyone's Last Words

Seventy-two hours before my wedding, I got a power.

Stare at someone for three seconds.

Under their caption, there's a string of numbers.

Times taken part in your death: 68.

Times taken part in your death: 103.

Times taken part in your death: 126.

He left behind the 127th delivery order.

Every time you die, I restart this wedding.

But this time, he has only seven days of life left.

Sis, why do you look so awful?

Ann Swanson pinched up the hem of the gown and did a slow turn in front of me.

Because this gown was never cut to my measurements.

Ann's waist is a twenty-six.

When they took my measurements two months ago, David Abbott told me the designer suggested letting the waist out an inch and a half so I could eat comfortably on the wedding day.

David walked over and adjusted the strap slipping off Ann's shoulder.

Stop fooling around. Take it off.

Why so harsh?

Ann pouted at him.

David said in a low voice, It'd be a shame to get it dirty.

I fixed my eyes on David's.

Three seconds.

Those two lines of transparent caption appeared again.

Last honest words: I've only ever loved one person in my life, and it's a pity it wasn't you.

Love balance: 23 hours 56 minutes.

David frowned.

Vivi, what are you doing with those scissors?

I walked up to Ann and took hold of the gown at the side of her waist.

A dress worth a hundred and eighty thousand, and I cut an eight-inch slit into it.

Ann screamed.

Are you insane?

Didn't you say it didn't fit?

Now it's roomier.

Martha Swanson!

My mother, Ava Ramsey, shoved the door open and slapped my wrist.

Then she rushed to check whether Ann was hurt.

Your sister was just trying it on. What's the big deal? Have you lost your mind?

Three seconds later, a caption surfaced above her head.

Last honest words: If you had half of Ann's sense, I wouldn't be this worn out my whole life.

Love balance: 13 days.

I just never knew the expiration date was printed above their heads too.

Mom.

I asked softly, Whose gown is this, really?

Yours, of course.

The answer came fast out of Ava's mouth, but her hand was still shielding Ann.

Then why can she wear it?

You two sisters are about the same build. What's strange about that?

Something made to measure shouldn't even zip up with an inch and a half off.

David bent down and picked up the scissors.

He set them out of reach and softened his tone.

All this wedding planning has worn you out. Don't twist yourself in knots over it.

I'm not twisting anything.

Ten weeks, right?

Ann's face went white in an instant.

Only David was still putting on an act.

Ten weeks of what?

I picked up the tablet on the table and opened the Bluetooth printer Ann had just connected to.

A prenatal report was still sitting in the print history.

Ten weeks and two days pregnant.

Fetal heartbeat normal.

The line for the father's name left blank.

This.

Whose is it?

Ann's lips trembled.

Sis, let me explain.

She called me sis, but the line above her head was a blood-red glare.

I waited three months after you died to announce the pregnancy. That was already sparing your face.

How do you plan to explain?

It was an accident.

An accident with whom?

I can't say.

What's there that you can't say?

The kid didn't come from scanning a code, did it?

Ann covered her face and started to cry.

She's in this state already, and you're still pushing her?

I got her pregnant?

Vivi!

Or did I make her put on the wedding gown?

David stepped forward and grabbed my wrist.

Enough.

Your heart aches for her?

I just don't want you to make this too ugly.

Make what ugly?

My sister's the one who's pregnant, so why is it my fianc who's afraid of it looking ugly?

We were standing very close.

Close enough that I could smell the woody scent at his collar.

Ann had just posted a photo of her new perfume last week.

The same scent.

I pulled my hand free, my fingertips brushing past his shirt collar.

I hooked out a long strand of hair.

Chestnut brown.

I've never dyed my hair.

Ann did.

Care to explain?

David looked at the strand of hair and said nothing.

Ms. Swanson, your delivery.

I didn't order anything.

A Mr. Norris sent it.

That's the 127th time.

Martha Swanson, don't marry him.

This time, try to stay alive.

Don't look into anyone's eyes again. Every one you look at, you lose a little of your ability to be loved.

Old Rob.

When I bolted out of the bridal boutique, David called after me.

"Vivi, where are you going?"

The cup of soup had gone soft and misshapen in my grip, broth seeping out from under the lid, scalding my palm red.

The wedding countdown on my phone was still ticking down.

But David's love balance had only twenty-three hours left.

Which meant that before the wedding even started, whatever he felt for me would hit zero.

The rider account "Old Rob" had been deactivated three months ago.

Three years back, on my birthday, I'd worked until one in the morning.

Mild spice, no cilantro. It's my birthday, please hurry.

Got it. I tucked a candle in the bag. Even a stranger can wish you a happy birthday.

The candle was only thumb-length, pulled off some little cake from a convenience store.

Two years ago, I'd left Old Rob a one-star because the food spilled.

The soup spilled everywhere. Bad review.

Rider: I'm sorry.

Me: Just leave it at the door.

Rider: Your stomach's bad. Don't eat anything cold.

Me: How do you know my stomach's bad?

Rider: You always order congee, always note no ice. Just a guess.

When I opened the door that day, the hallway was already empty.

Now, looking again, there was half a hand showing in the corner of the order photo.

"You're looking for Old Rob?"

"Yes. What's his real name?"

"Can't just hand that out."

"He delivered 127 orders to me."

"So you're Little Swanson?"

"You know me?"

"He brought you up a lot."

"Said you were a real pain to order for. No scallions, no cilantro, only half a spoon of chili. When you were in a bad mood you'd order three milk teas and only drink one after they arrived."

"Where is he now?"

"Quit."

"Can you give me his phone number?"

"Hold on."

"That's strange. The number he registered is dead now."

"His address?"

"19 Haven Alley, South Side."

I pulled it up on the map right away.

Less than ten minutes after I drove off, a black van suddenly closed in from the right and slammed into me.

It forced me to a stop. Two men got out and yanked at my door.

"Ms. Swanson, Mr. Abbott sent us to bring you back."

"Which Mr. Abbott?"

"Your fianc."

"Tell him to come himself."

"The wedding's almost here. Don't throw a tantrum."

The man started prying at my door.

I picked up my phone and opened the livestream.

"Pull it again."

"There are over four hundred people in my stream right now. The whole wedding planning team is watching. Go ahead, tell everyone who told you to run my car off the road."

The man stepped back. The other one started making a call.

Not long after, David's call came through.

"Turn off the livestream."

"So you admit you sent them?"

"I was afraid you'd get worked up and something would happen to you."

"So you rammed me first?"

"They just tapped your car lightly."

"When your brother was a kid and you pushed him down the stairs, was that a light tap too?"

The instant the van rammed me, a scene had flashed into my head out of nowhere.

A young David standing at the top of the stairs.

A boy half a head taller than him tumbling down.

The web of his hand split open on broken glass, blood spreading across the floor.

The boy lifted his face.

His features were a blur.

But there was a line of words above his head.

Last true words: Vivi, don't look back.

"David, is your brother really dead?"

Beep.

The call had been cut off.