Chapter 1: A Final Regret

It was the year 2051, but for Joshua Harlow, time had all but lost its meaning. Nights blurred into one endless chain of empty bottles and faded memories, each sip meant to dull the pain that never left him. Even now, if he closed his eyes long enough—if he drank deep enough—he could almost hear her voice, could almost feel her hand slip into his, warm and soft. Katie. She was everything he’d ever wanted and the one thing he could never get back. The guilt weighed down on him as heavily as it had the day she died, and every thought of her brought back the horror of that night, a single mistake that cost him the world.

In his mind, he relived a carefree memory from years ago. It was one of those perfect summer afternoons when the world felt boundless and bright. They were driving along the coast, windows down, a light breeze whipping through the car, and Katie’s laughter filling the air. She was smiling beside him, reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced over with that knowing look.

“Josh, slow down a little, would you?” she said, though her voice held no real worry—just that gentle concern he’d always loved. “I know you’re trying to impress me, but I’d rather arrive in one piece,” she teased, reaching across to take his hand for a moment.

“Fine, fine,” he’d replied with a laugh, giving her hand a quick squeeze before letting up on the pedal slightly, glancing over at her as they drove together into the sunset.

When he finally awoke that morning, his body felt heavy and unsteady, his head thick with the familiar fog of another sleepless night. Reaching for the nightstand, he found the half-empty whiskey bottle from the night before. He took a sip, knowing it wouldn’t silence the ache that never left him. But today felt different. As he downed another mouthful, a dull ache began in his chest, persistent and unyielding.

Katie’s face appeared in his mind, pale and peaceful against stark hospital linens. Her hand had been limp in his own, and he had clung to it, desperate to keep even a trace of her warmth. The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the room, and the low hum of machines provided a cruel soundtrack to his grief. The doctors had said there was nothing more they could do, and he had sat there, numb with disbelief, unable to accept that she was gone.

He had whispered into the silence, his voice raw and broken. “Katie, I’m so sorry ... I didn’t mean to ... I should have been more careful.” But his words had gone unanswered, slipping away into the sterile quiet of the room.

The loss had been too much, her absence too profound to comprehend. Not only had he lost her, but he had lost their future together—their dreams, their plans, and the little life she’d carried, the child he would never meet. That double blow haunted him, a pain he could never escape.

As the ache in his chest grew sharper, he stumbled into the bathroom, blinking under the bright, sterile light. Looking into the mirror, he found himself staring at a stranger—a man whose face bore the weight of years spent in regret. Hollow eyes, graying hair, and a face that looked far older than his sixty-five years. Pressing a hand to his chest, his breath came in shallow gasps as the realization settled over him—this wasn’t heartburn. This was something far worse.

The pressure tightened, spiraling down his arm, and a cold sweat broke across his forehead. Panic surged as he gripped the sink, fighting to steady himself, his mind racing. He was dying. This was it—the end.

Another memory surfaced, one of their final days together. They were at home, curled up on the couch, Katie’s head resting on his shoulder as she gently traced patterns on his arm with her fingertips. He remembered the calm that settled over him in those moments, the feeling that he was exactly where he belonged.

“Can you imagine us ten years from now, Josh?” she’d whispered, a content smile on her lips. “Maybe with a little one or two running around?”