Seven Days Until Forever EndsChapter 1

I'm born with the ability to see how much time remains in every relationship between two people.

Throughout my 13 years of marriage to my wife, Francine Spence, the rare word "Forever" glows above both our heads.

But on the eve of our son Oscar Baxter's birthday, I stumble upon a conversation between Francine and her client, Dale Stratton.

In it, I discover that she has been letting Dale use Oscar as a substitute for his deceased son, Zachary Stratton, to ease his grief.

In an instant, the golden word "Forever" vanishes, and in its place is a glaring crimson number—7 Days.

* * *

I possessed the ability to see the expiration date of every relationship.

My father, Saul Baxter, and my mother, Julia Barrymore, had been married for 23 years.

On the day the number above their heads hit zero, Mom neither cried nor made a scene. Instead, she simply placed the divorce papers on the table and left with her suitcase in hand.

That night, Dad knelt outside the door, begging her to stay until dawn.

But Mom told me, "Relationships don't expire all at once. Behind every number that ticks down is a trust that's been betrayed."

When I was 25 years old, I married Francine Spence.

She was a renowned family law attorney, known for her rational mind and level-headedness. She had never believed in fairy-tale romance or happily-ever-afters.

Yet, when we got married, the number above our heads wasn't ten or 50 years. It was a single gold word—Forever.

Thirteen years into our marriage, we had a 12-year-old son, Oscar Baxter.

To support Francine in her career, I had given up a position at the overseas branch of my firm and stayed home to take care of the household and raise Oscar.

Over the years, Francine had worked her way up to a senior partner at her law firm. Meanwhile, I had gone from an ordinary architect to the head of my own firm.

Everyone said we were the most stable couple they knew, and I believed it too.

That was, until the night before Oscar's birthday, when I happened to notice Francine's phone light up with a message. It was from a man named Dale Stratton.

"Oscar said he's willing to celebrate Zachary's birthday with me. He also said that whenever I miss Zachary, I can think of him as Zachary from now on. Francine, thank you for bringing such a wonderful child into my life."

I stared at those words for a long time, frozen in place.

Dale was Francine's college classmate and one of her newest clients.

Three months ago, his 11-year-old son, Zachary Stratton, had died of an illness. In the aftermath, Dale's marriage had fallen apart completely. He was also embroiled in a dispute with his ex-wife, Elaine Donahue, over Zachary's inheritance and insurance payout.

Francine sympathized with Dale, and so did I.

That was why I never objected when she took Dale's late-night calls, nor did I question her when she accompanied him to sort through Zachary's belongings.

Even when she took Oscar to meet Dale for the first time, all I did was remind her to maintain proper boundaries.

Back then, she had wrapped her arms around me and said, "Dale just lost Zachary, and seeing Oscar helps him feel a little better. Don't worry, I know where to draw the line."

Only now did I realize that by "drawing the line", she meant lending Oscar to another man.

The bathroom door opened. Francine stepped out, drying her hair with a towel. When she saw the phone in my hand, she faltered for a moment.

"Dale's only just starting to get his emotions under control. Don't read too much into it."

"I didn't say anything," I said, putting the phone down.

Francine walked over and hugged me from behind. "Tomorrow's Oscar's birthday. I've already cleared my schedule. How about the three of us go to the air show he's been talking about for the past month?"

I lifted my head. Above us, the golden word "Forever" that had remained unchanged for 13 years suddenly flickered.

The next second, the golden glow vanished, replaced by a blood-red countdown—7 days.