A Voicemail From My Future Self Warned Me My Husband Wanted Me Dead

The night before my business trip, I receive a voicemail—from me. "It's me. Your future self. Listen, do not go on that trip tomorrow. " "A hurricane's about to hit Palm Harbor. Go there, and you're dead." "This was supposed to be Quinn's trip. Rowan dumped it on you at the last minute. They put you up at the shittiest motel in town. Because they want you dead." My blood runs cold. Right on cue, Rowan calls. "Babe, everything's set up for you out there," he says. "Don't pack too much. Make it a mini vacation! " "Oh—one more thing. When you sign the contract, don't use your name. Everyone knows you're my wife. I don't want people saying I'm playing favorites." Favorites? Yeah, right. He wasn't worried about rumors. He just wanted Quinn to take the commission. I zip up my suitcase and play along. "Got it, babe. Whatever you say." "That's my good girl. Got a dinner thing tonight, won't make it home. Don't sleep in tomorrow." Right before the call cuts off, I hear a woman's voice in the background. Quinn. My assistant. My college roommate. My mind flashes back to college. Back then, she couldn't get a job anywhere, so she begged me to pull strings and get her onto the sales team. Rowan Lowe was the CEO and my boyfriend at the time. I said yes without thinking twice. Turns out, she had been thinking a lot more than I realized. And now, back in the present, those three sentences keep replaying in my head. That voice definitely mine. There was no mistaking it. I hesitate for a second. But in the end, I make my choice. I trust myself, no matter what happens. I book a flight to Maui. Leaves tomorrow morning. Palm Harbor? Whoever wants it can have it. The second my ticket goes through, Quinn calls. "Summer, your card just got charged three thousand bucks. What'd you buy?" "Oh, Summer, you know Rowan's company is tight on cash right now. You're his wife, you really should watch what you spend." "Why drop that kind of cash the night before you leave?" Her voice is sweet as ever. But she bites down on "leave" just a little too hard. My stomach turns. They've planned every bit of this. They want me dead in Palm Harbor. I keep my tone light. "It's your birthday present, silly. Your birthday's next week, remember?" Rowan took my primary card away months ago and handed it straight to her. That's how Quinn gets to see every purchase I make. The card I use now isn't even mine. It's an authorized user card attached to her account. He'd had the perfect excuse for it, too: Quinn majored in accounting and was good with money. He claims he's swamped with work and worried I'd overspend, which is why he had her "keep an eye on things" for me. And I believed him. I actually thought Rowan was having a rough time, so I killed myself closing deals for him. A whole year, and I didn't buy myself one nice thing. Looking back, I couldn't believe how blind I'd been. Then Quinn's voice cuts through my thoughts, bright and eager. "Oh! That makes sense! Summer, I knew you were the best!" "But..." "But if it's my present, shouldn't you be paying for it? Why's it being charged to Rowan's card?"

I almost laugh. Ever since Rowan and I got together, I've poured everything I had into his company. But he never paid me a dime. He said it "wouldn't look right." His line was always the same: "Baby, what's mine is yours. Why bother with a paycheck? It's all gonna be ours anyway." So yeah, I never felt guilty spending money from the accounts he always called "ours." What he owes me is worth way more than a few handbags and some skincare. I open my chat with my personal shopper, ready to blow another fortune before I leave. Bleed him dry. Quinn's sugary voice slides right back in. "You know what? I'll refund that charge for you. And freeze the card for a few days." "Summer, your family's rich. Rowan's the one struggling. You get it, right?" "Oh, and about my birthday present. It's just a few thousand, right? You can totally cover that yourself. I can't let that go through on Rowan's card." "And don't stress about the trip. Rowan and I already have everything handled. Food, hotel, rides, all taken care of. You won't have to spend a cent." A chill runs down my spine. The second that card is frozen, I'm cut off. Trapped. No way out. But I have to get out. I grip my phone, force a tremble into my voice, and take a gamble. "Rowan." There’s a pause on the other end. Then Quinn's voice tightens. "Summer, why are you saying Rowan's name? He's not—" I cut her off. My voice comes out slow and deliberate. "Rowan, I heard you cough." "Come talk to me." Dead silence on the other end of the line. My nails dig into my palm. After a long pause, I hear a small cough. Then Rowan's voice, low and careful. "Babe, it's not what you think. I'm at the office, working late. Quinn's my assistant, she's just helping me run some numbers." "You know I only look out for her because she's your friend. I gave her a raise, so of course she's putting in extra hours." Six months earlier, I remember how Rowan doubled Quinn's salary and given her the title of "Executive Assistant to the CEO." All under the excuse of "helping her out." Quinn jumps in fast: "Exactly, Summer! You're leaving tomorrow, somebody's gotta cover your workload, right? Don't overthink it!" I ignore her. "Rowan. Freezing my card. Was that you?" Years of playing the perfect husband. And right now, he won't admit to a damn thing. "What? No way! I love it when you spend my money! It's just, things are really tight at the company right now. Just cut back a little, okay? I'll make it up to you later, I promise..." I hit stop on the voice recorder and hang up. After my little performance, I kept the Maui ticket. But Rowan still doesn't come home that night. Later that night, hurricane warnings flood every news channel. I never stay up past ten. Never. But right now, it's two in the morning. If it weren't for that voicemail, I would've slept right through every alert and walked straight into their trap. Instagram pings. Quinn just posted. A selfie. Tagged at: CEO's office lounge. The same lounge Rowan had always said only I had a key to. Caption: Huge thanks to the boss. Even a small town girl gets to nap on a million-dollar couch. 😴 In the corner of the photo, just barely visible, a navy silk robe. The one I picked out for Rowan myself. Then Rowan, who never posts, drops a story too. The text on it reads: How many people would stay up with you till 2 AM?

I clench my fists, staring at the photo on my screen. A cold smile creeps onto my lips. Then I like both posts. One second later, both gone. Rowan's message pops up right away. Babe, why are you still up? You feeling okay? Want me to come home and take care of you? I scroll back through our chat history. Every message, sickeningly sweet. I remember how things used to be. Five years together. Two years married. And throughout all of it, Rowan had always been gentle and attentive, never once raising his voice at me. That's why I gave him everything. I trusted him completely. My fingers hover over the keyboard. Before I can type a word, a weather alert flashes across the screen. Hurricane warning. Palm Harbor. I added the place to my weather app when the trip was first scheduled. I think for a second, then screenshot it and send it to him. Babe, looks like Palm Harbor's about to get hit by a hurricane. Maybe we should push the trip. I'm curious. I want to see what he says. A second later, my phone lights up. Rowan. I pick up. "Babe, Mr. Whitmore is a major client we're trying to land. We've been chasing this deal for months. Tomorrow's the only day he's free. You can't screw this up." My voice comes out weirdly calm. "But the forecast says it's a Category 5. People are gonna die." Rowan clicks his tongue. That same tone that always made me feel stupid for asking. "Babe, you grew up inland. You don't get it." "Down here on the coast, we get warnings like this every year. They always hype it up. Don't take it so seriously." "If you don't believe me, ask Quinn. She's from Palm Harbor.You don't trust me, fine. But you trust your best friend, right?" I check my phone and smile. "But babe, all flights to Palm Harbor tomorrow just got cancelled." There’s silence on the other end. Then Quinn's voice cuts through. Quiet, but I catch every word. "Ro, what do we do now? I bet everyone I could close the Whitmore deal!" Ro. Five years with Rowan. We've never even had pet names for each other. But she calls him Ro. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. His voice comes right back. "I switched you to Amtrak. If the trains shut down too, I'll hire a car to drive you there.No matter what, we can't lose the Whitmore deal." There’s a pause. Then his voice changes, suddenly softer. "It's all for our future." "Just get through this month. The company goes public, and we can finally breathe. Then we can have a baby. I told you, I want to give you and our kids the best life." He sounds so sincere. So sincere it makes me sick. I hang up. The last shred of hope I was holding onto disappeared. Rowan, there is no "our future" anymore. Next time we meet, one of us walks away in ruins. And it won't be me.